


Le Médecin

by justbygrace



Series: Movie 'Verse [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Era Type Violence, F/M, French Revolution, NSFW, Rape/Non-con Elements, movie 'verse - Freeform, there is forgiveness, they work things out, this is important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: It is Paris, France, in 1792 and everyone has a secret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Couple things to note before we start:  
> This story is based on 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' movie with some changes that, I believe, are true to the times.  
> This story is complete.  
> I am not kidding about any warnings.  
> It starts lighter and gets progressively darker.  
> I will not change anything about what has been written - this was originally written in 2014.

It was nearly dusk, and Sergeant Pierre Fouquet was ready to be done his shift as the captain of the guard at the city's west gate. This particular gate was hardly used and being assigned here generally meant you had done something to anger someone higher up the food chain. Pierre shifted restlessly and glared at some ragged boys throwing rocks against a nearby building. He knew he was lucky that he had just been assigned to this gate instead of being thrown in prison for disorderly conduct.

It was Paris in 1793, and "Madame Guillotine" was hard at work. The lines between Aristocrat and Citizen were drawn in the sand, but "mistakes" were made and it didn't take more than a few well-placed words to get someone condemned. The streets were running with blood as the clamor for it grew louder each day. By this time, most of the more corrupt members of the aristocracy were long-dead, rotting in mass graves, but that did not cease the endless line of people sentenced to die for little more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The people's thirst grew and the Committee for National Security led by Maximilien Robespierre worked to quench it at an ever-increasing pace. The death of Louis XVI just a few months prior had kicked the appetites of the people up another notch, and riots, murders, and the near constant setting of fires were daily staples.

The clatter of horse hooves roused Pierre from his ennui and he watched their approach with some interest.

"Ho there. Sergeant Fouquet."

"Yes, sir?" Pierre rose to his feet, the aches of the day making their presence known with a vengeance.

"The Count de Beaulieu and his family have escaped from Temple Prison. We’ve just received word that the Doctor is at large in the city. Could be that he’s going to try to smuggle him out of the country, possibly by this gate. Be on the alert and keep your eyes open." The Captain nodded and wheeled his horse, headed back the direction he came, his entourage hot on his heels.

"You heard him lads," Pierre said lazily, "Search every cart that comes through."

He sank back in his chair with a relieved sigh, reaching for his tankard of cider. Only a few more weeks of being stranded here amongst the stench of humanity, the squawk of chickens and yells of children a constant background noise, and he could return to a real post, somewhere he could do some actual good, perhaps they would send him to the fighting near Austria. At least there he wouldn't have to deal with the squalls of babies and his superior officers' insufferable pride. 

His musings were interrupted by the rattle of an approaching cart and he stood up to block its path. The cart itself seemed nondescript, one of hundreds leaving the city every day, stacked high with coffins and driven by overworked citizens. This one looked just the same, but still, Pierre wasn't eager to face his superior's wrath for not having done his duty, and he approached the cart leisurely, folding his arms and giving the driver a hard stare. 

"Let's see the papers then."

"Everything's in order." The man's voice was gruff and he tapped the edge of the rosette with the Republic colors displayed prominently on his chest. 

"Well, let's see the coffins then." It was a distasteful job, but orders were orders. 

"You want to see inside the coffins?" The man looked at him sideways and snorted to himself. 

"You heard me, open them up," Pierre demanded, headed towards the back of the cart. 

The old man half turned, addressing the boy lounging in the back. "Do as he says." The boy heaved himself to his feet and grabbed a crowbar, working the corner of the wooden box open. 

The old man jerked his head towards Pierre, motioning him closer, his breath stinking of tobacco and stale beer, "Warning you, Sergeant. It ain't a pretty sight. These are fresh off the Madame this morning. See for yourself...if you got the stomach for it." 

Pierre shrugged and moved back to check it out just as the boy tossed a bloody bag at him. Pierre caught it on reflex and felt a nose give way beneath one finger and the edges of an ear with the other. He couldn't suppress a curse and threw it back to the boy hastily, the jeers from the other guards sounding around him. 

"Can't be much of a soldier if you can't stand the bit of blood now and again," the old man sneered. 

"Go on, get out of here!" Pierre hollered. 

"You sure? The other two are even prettier." 

"Just go. Open the gate!" The laughter of the soldiers and the bystanders continued as the old man threw insults over his shoulder even as he urged the horse forward and through the gate. 

Pierre rounded on the soldiers. "What are you laughing at? Shut up!" They hastily did, but he still saw a few roll their eyes and at least one insolent boy feigned losing his lunch in the bushes. Pierre returned to his post, happy to see the last of the insufferable old man and his corpses.

 

~~~

 

Twenty minutes later, and several leagues outside the city, the cart pulled to a halt next to a small grove of trees. The old man sat up straight, eyes shifting in all directions and then he nodded to the boy in the back. The young lad stood up, lifted his fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. 

Instantly a small band of horsemen rode into the clearing, leading two horses behind them. They dismounted and quickly unloaded the coffins, while the old man stayed on his perch, overseeing the proceedings. Once the boxes were on the ground, the men used the crowbars to open them, helping the occupants, a man, a woman, and a child dressed in slightly dirty finery to their feet. The couple embraced each other gratefully, hardly noticing as the old man guided his cart some distance away.

As the party mounted the horses and prepared to ride off, the rescued man paused, gesturing towards the cart and addressing one of the horsemen. "Who is that man who risked his life to rescue us?"

"That, sir, is the Doctor," the horseman responded with a grin.

The old man inclined his head slightly at him and watched as the party urged their horses quickly on their way. One of the men broke away from the rest, steered his horse alongside the cart and addressed the old man.

"Alright then?" 

"There will be soldiers everywhere in less than an hour." He responded in quite a different voice than he had used at the city gate, removing a fake moustache and twisting his hooked nose, revealing a less prominent one underneath the putty. "If all goes well, you'll reach the coast before they do. You know the meeting place?"

"If it hasn't changed." 

"It hasn't. There will be a ship waiting to take you to England." He paused to remove a wig and strip off his bushy eyebrows. "Now go quickly."

"And what about you?"

"I'm headed back to Paris. But I'll be seeing you shortly, don't you worry about that."

The man on horseback grinned, wheeled his mount, and disappeared rapidly in the direction of the rest of the riders.


	2. Chapter 2

"Then never say that thou art miserable, Because it may be thou shalt be my love. Yet boast not of it, for I love thee not. And yet I hate thee not. O, if I speak, I shall betray myself. Aeneas speak. We two will go ahunting in the woods, But not so much for thee - thou art but one -As for Achates and his followers!" 

Rose Tyler fixed the audience with a steely glare while the ornate curtain fell before her, dimming the sound of applause. She held her position while the curtain came up again, briefly allowing a small smile along with a curtsy at the crowd as the curtain fell for a second time.

She let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. No matter how many times she performed she couldn't quite conquer the butterflies which wreaked havoc in her stomach. It was only the third night of this particular run and she was almost to the point where the lines were more second nature and less conscious. She had at least twenty precious moments before the next act and she moved towards her dressing room, intent on finding a bit of cognac to settle her stomach, when she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw Marthe de Jones rushing towards her.

"Rose! It's Michel. He's hurt." The young woman stopped before her, bosom heaving with exertion.

"Hurt? Whatever do you mean?" Rose felt her stomach drop with the news. Michel was her half brother and had recently been chosen to work closely with prominent leaders of the Revolution. She worried every day for his safety and now feared the worst. It didn't take much in the current climate for people to turn against their friends and comrades.

"There's a man outside with a carriage." Marthe panted. "He wants us to go with him. What shall we do?" 

"I shall go with him at once." Rose gathered her skirts and quickly began to move towards the exit.

"But...what about the rest of the play?" Marthe's plaintive voice sounded from behind her.

"Marthe." Rose forced herself to stop and place her hands on the woman's shoulders. "This is the chance every understudy dreams of. You must finish the play."

"But I can't. I'm not ready. I can never remember the monologue at the end." Marthe's eyes were wide with worry.

"You'll be fantastic, I know you will be. Marthe, you're brilliant!" Rose gave her friend a reassuring smile and kissed her cheek. 

"Rose!" Martha protested, but Rose was already hurrying down the hall to the waiting carriage.

The footman looked trustworthy enough, but as Rose arranged her skirts around her and looked out the small window, she couldn't help the gnawing worry that she was walking into a trap. However if there was even the slightest chance that her brother really was in danger, well, she would not take that risk.

Michel had been adopted by the Tyler’s when he was young, after his own parents were killed, and he had been brought up as one of them. After losing her parents to the sickness two years ago, Rose couldn't bear the thought of losing her brother as well. He could be impulsive and foolhardy, but he was her confidant and had been her rock, especially through these troublesome times. 

As soon as the carriage stopped in front of a small wayside tavern and the footman placed the stairs, Rose rushed inside, eyes alert. She spotted her brother immediately, seated by the fire and being tended to by a young maid. 

"Mickey." Rose dropped to her knees in front of his chair, her worry making her revert to his childhood nickname. "What happened to you?" She caught his hand, wincing as she caught sight of the cuts and bruises adorning his face.

"Two men out of the dark. I never saw them coming, one moment I was walking, the next they attacked me. If it hadn't been for that man..." He trailed off, shaking his head and gesturing towards the corner.

Rose looked to where Michel was pointing and caught sight of a gentleman seated at a table, back to them, and twirling a silver-tipped cane. "My brother and I are extremely grateful to you, Monsieur." The man did not respond and Rose stood and took a tentative step towards him, trying again. "Monsieur?"

The man rose and turned slowly, sweeping his arm out, and bowing deeply. "Sir John Noble, my lady." He started to stand and paused halfway, eyes alighting on Rose for the first time. He froze, attention fixed upon her. "Although, I believe anyone would have done the same." 

"If you think that's true, I can't say as you know France very well these days," Rose rejoined, admiring the man very much. He was dressed immaculately, every line pressed, every cut precise. His hair was the only rebellious bit, it was not covered in a traditional wig, instead it was a natural chestnut color and doing its best to defy gravity. His accent marked him as an obvious Englishman, and Rose had to force herself to take a deep breath and return her attention to Michel. "Tell me who attacked you?"

"I didn't recognize the men, but the carriage looked a lot like the Marquis de Jones'," Michel said, averting his eyes and studying the floorboards. "Probably trying to teach me a lesson."

"Well, I shall find a way to repay them. They will not be getting away with this," Rose said hotly, squeezing his hand. "Come on, we need to get you home. Will you be alright to make it?"

"Yes, I'll be fine." Michel stood, obviously biting back a groan at the effort, and Rose shook her head at him.

John had stepped forward to assist Michel should he need it and he caught Rose's hand with one of his own. She barely repressed a shudder at the spark that flared through her from the contact, forcing herself to meet his intense gaze. He leaned forward slightly and spoke with sincerity. "That was rather a harsh lesson they were teaching him. Hopefully the crime warranted it?"

"Michel is young and impulsive," Rose said, ignoring the boy's noise of protest, "And I'm afraid he had the audacity to be seen in public with the Marquis' daughter."

"Is love also a crime these days?" John's voice was husky and his gaze warm. 

"Only if the lady is an aristocrat and her father considers anyone who is not to be less than a dog." She attempted a smile and moved her gaze back to Michel. "Will you excuse me? I really must be getting my brother home."

She was halfway across the room when Sir John's voice arrested her movement. "Wait, when can I see you again?" She closed her eyes against the sudden warmth that flooded her and turned back towards him.

"My brother and I are hosting a ball at our home a week from Sunday, if you're free?"

He stepped forward, catching her hand and leaning down to press his lips to the back of it. "For such an invitation, I will make sure that I am."

"I will see you there then." Rose smiled at him and then started after her brother, pausing at the doorway to glance back. John was still standing in the middle of the floor, gaze trained on her with an adoring expression.

Michel waited until the carriage was underway before turning towards her with a slight smirk. "What was that?"

Rose hesitated before responding. "It was nothing really." 

Michel shook his head at her. "That was not nothing. I believe he's smitten with you already."

"He is not. He's just friendly, that's all." Rose turned her head deliberately towards the window.

For a moment all was silent, and Rose let her mind wander back to the inn and Sir John Noble with his impeccable dress and beautiful manners, not to mention his delicious accent and warm eyes. She had to admit that it did indeed appear that he was smitten with her but she found that she did not mind that at all.

"What about Koschei?" Her brother's question halted her train of thought.

"What about him?" She asked. "We've made no promises to one another."

Michel’s muttered, "Tell that to him" was almost lost in the rumble of the carriage, and Rose chose not to respond. The fact was that Henri Koschei was very interested in pursuing her affection and she had been allowing it, enjoying his attention. Henri was second in command to Robespierre himself, and with the climate the way it was, it was well worth being friendly with someone with his sort of connections. However, this John Noble had stirred more emotion in her within five minutes than Henri had in nearly as many years and Rose was loathe to allow the opportunity to get to know John a little better pass her by. She could deal with Henri if and when the circumstances warranted, but she wasn't going to be spending any excess time worrying about it. Rose rested her head against the carriage seat and closed her eyes, allowing a certain pair of chocolate brown eyes to dance in her vision unimpeded. 

 

~~~

 

By the time of the ball, Rose had gone through the entire gamut of emotions regarding John, ranging from frissions of excitement when she remembered the sparks when he had touched her, to periods of realism when she reminded herself that she had really only talked to him for about ten minutes and had no real proof that she would ever see him again. She threw herself into her dramatic performances, and her spare time into making sure the house was prepared for the gathering, and forced herself to banish thoughts of Sir John Noble from her mind. 

When the guests began to arrive the following Sunday, Rose busied herself playing the consummate hostess, forcing herself not to look around for John. Many people complimented her on her play, applauding its success and her talent and she let herself bask in their words. 

"It was so beautiful and moving. You are a very talented actress." This came from a woman whose critical overviews of performances could spell ruin for even the most talented actress or playwright.

"I am so glad you enjoyed it. I was sure that no one would come," Rose thanked her warmly.

"Nonsense," the woman responded. "All of Paris adores you. Oh, have you heard the news? There were twenty-three executions in the square today."

"Twenty-four to be precise," sounded a voice from behind her and Rose turned to see Henri Koschei striding towards her.

"Henri!" Rose went to him and kissed his cheek. Despite her hope to see John, this man with his boyish grace had a charm that was uniquely his own. "It's delightful to see you. I was not sure you would be able to make it."

"I have only just been able to tear myself away, my dear. You know the work never stops." 

"Well, you look exhausted. Come, we must get you something to drink." Rose signaled a passing waiter and relieved him of two glasses of champagne, handing one to Henri and taking a small sip of the other.

"Did you say there were twenty-four executions today, Koschei?" A man spoke up from the crowd.

"Precisely. And there will continue to be more every day until we have purged the republic of the last corrupt aristocrat." Henri took a deep draught of his champagne.

"Oh, let's not have another speech," Michel chuckled, walking up beside him. "That's all I listen to every day now, my dear." The last was addressed to the young woman on his arm. 

"All day?" she asked, a sparkle lighting her dark eyes.

"Yes indeed," Henri replied. "This young man has just been promoted to my assistant, so he has little choice in the matter."

"You must be Henri Koschei then," she guessed.

"Chief Agent for the Committee of National Security, at your service. And you, Mademoiselle?"

"This is Marthe de Jones of the National Theatre," Michel answered, giving Marthe a proud smile.

"But of course. You're Rose's new understudy. I've heard much about you." Henri took her hand and kissed the back of it.

"All good, I should hope," Marthe said lightly. "And I take it that you are the one responsible for the execution of all of these undesirable aristocrats?"

"Well," Henri rejoined, "That is only a small segment of my responsibilities."

"Yes, and the rest is to make long and boring speeches at social gatherings," Michel chuckled.

"And you shall soon get the opportunity to make such speeches yourself," Henri agreed. "But just this once, I shall contain my patriotic zeal and content myself with just a simple toast." He raised his glass. "To the Republic."

"To the Republic," echoed back from all sides.

"It would seem that not everyone shares our enthusiasm," Henri said with a stern glance towards a man standing by the fire. "Perhaps he is not a friend of the Republic?"

The man looked up with a startled expression, quickly hiding behind his back a scrap of paper which he had been reading. "On the contrary, Koschei, I may be a Welshman by nationality and an aristocrat by birth, but I can assure you that I am a very good friend of the Republic."

As he spoke he dropped the paper, obviously intending for it to land in the fire. Rose watched it land on the edge of the flames, most of it ending up unscathed on the hearth.

"Rumor has it that you are more a friend of profit than of anything else and that you'll sell your allegiance to the highest bidder," Henri taunted. 

The man turned towards Rose with a small smile. "It appears my presence here this evening is causing you undue distress, Mademoiselle, so I shall bid you goodnight and be on my way."

Rose accepted his farewells sadly. The man was Ianto Jones and had been a close friend of the family for years. She bit her lip as she watched him exit the room, concerned about the malicious things Henri had said about him and what it could mean for his safety. Turning back, she saw that Henri had gained quite a crowd, all listening to his continuing diatribe. 

"This just shows how vigilant we must be at all times. We have to root out the enemies in our midst since we never know where they will next strike. The accursed Doctor has managed to abscond several more of the prisoners. His record is abysmally high and he must be stopped at any cost. He is placing a great toll on the Republic with his continued interferences. If blood must be shed, I promise you, no one regrets it more than I do." His voice rose in fervor and Rose kept her snort of disbelief to herself, instead quickly reaching down and carefully picking up the scrap of paper from the fireplace.

As soon as she could discreetly make her way from the room, she retired to the library, fishing the paper from her sleeve and holding it up to the light. It was mostly burned, but she could still make out the words "your people, the Dauphin is to be held at Temple" and the signature "de Jones." 

"Ah, there you are." Rose quickly closed her fist around the paper and turned towards Henri, schooling her expression into a half-smile.

"How could you be so rude?" she demanded.

"To Ianto Jones?" Henri looked confused.

"Yes, to him. He was a guest in my home." 

"An unworthy guest, perhaps," Henri snorted. "There are reports that he is selling information to the Austrian government."

"You've executed men for much less." Rose took a tentative step towards him, eyes intent on his.

"Revolutions are bound to be bloody. It's the nature of the beast. This reign of terror will be brief and will take us to greater heights of freedom and..." 

"Just be careful where it takes you, Henri," Rose interrupted, laying one hand on his sleeve.

"To a new order. To an era of glory and prosperity. And we shall be a part of it, Rose. Just like we've always spoken about." Henri closed the distance between them. "And I shall make you my wife and this bright new future shall be ours to share." 

He bent down and pressed his lips to hers, one arm sliding around her waist and drawing her nearer still. When he tried to deepen the kiss, Rose pulled away slightly. She was not in the mood to hear his speeches or receive his passion. As she glanced over Henri's shoulder she caught a glimpse of John Noble standing in the doorway. For a moment John's eyes appeared dark and stormy, but they cleared so quickly she was sure it must have been a trick of the light. John entered the room quickly, a wide smile on his face.

"Sir John!" Rose greeted him warmly, ducking under Henri's arm and meeting him halfway.

"By Rassilon, Mademoiselle," John exclaimed, "You are even more beautiful than I remember you being." He caught her hand between both of his and raised it to his lips, pressing a series of kisses along her knuckles.

Rose allowed the shiver that ran through her at the feel of his soft skin on hers, taking a brief moment to unfavorably compare the contact with that of Henri's ardor, before catching John's hand and tugging him towards Henri. "Henri, this is the man who rescued Michel the other night. Henri Koschei, Agent of the Committee of National Security, Sir John Noble, Baronet."

Henri surveyed John critically before inclining his head slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm sure."

"Oh, I'm sure the pleasure is all mine!" John exclaimed with a merry chuckle. "You'll excuse my tardiness. I had quite a time finding a suitable carriage. Everyone seemed to be extraordinarily busy this evening, it must be quite the night for social activities. It's a nightmare trying to find someone to drive one about, everyone is so amazingly equal in this country of yours."

"I assume you do not approve of our new society?" Henri asked with a twist of his lip.

"Oh, on the contrary my dear chap, approval means that you've attained perfection. And I dare say you rather overrate the charm of this new society. Everyone is badly dressed in this city, even for one newly starting out. Whatever happened to Paris being the height of fashion? It seems to me that you all have sunk to new lows. I rather think your tailors have betrayed you." John prowled closer to Henri as he spoke, a delighted twinkle in his eye.

"What do you mean, betrayed us?" Henri asked heatedly. "We are indeed the height of fashion."

"I think not, my dear fellow." John began a leisurely stroll around Henri. "Take your suit for instance. Such terrible workmanship would never be tolerated in London. Why look at this!" He used his monocle to poke at Henri's cravat. "Is this a distant cousin to the fish, it's so limp? And the cut of your suit! Such shoddy work I've never seen in all my life. And the state of your cuffs. Oh no, no, no, no. I can hardly force myself to look at them. If this is the best your tailors can do, I can't think why you aren't sending them to the guillotine." 

"We have sent our king instead," Henri said tightly, straightening the wrinkles John's proddings had given his suit, "And we shall exalt our tailors."

"Then the tailors shall rule and no one shall make the clothes. So much for French fashion and French politics, I suppose. More's the pity. I was looking forward to getting a new suit or two while in town, but I suppose I shall have to wait till I visit Italy." John's face took on a mournful expression.

"Well, as absolutely delightful as this little exchange has been, there is someone I must really speak to inside." Henri jerked his head at John and turned to Rose. "You'll excuse me, my dear?"

Rose smiled at him and waited until he had gone before shaking her head at John. "You can't tease him like that. He's really very powerful and Robespierre's most trusted agent."

John's expression was pure adoration as he stepped forward and grasped Rose's hand, entwining their fingers. "The only power I can see is the power of your overwhelming beauty."

Rose blushed, turning her face to the side. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Sir John."

John reached out with his free hand, using one finger to tilt Rose's chin up so that he could meet her eyes with his. "This beholder is absolutely enchanted, my dear."

Rose felt her blush deepen, but she merely tugged a bit on his hand, pulling him into the main room. "Would you care to share a dance with me?"

"I would be delighted." John responded, immediately shifting his hands to her waist and shoulder and joining the group on the floor. 

There was little conversation as they moved with the strains of music. Rose worked to concentrate on keeping her footing, even on dances she had been doing her entire life; there was something about this man, lean and deceptively strong, that made it difficult to want to think about anything other than being in his arms. He moved with a grace and elegance that spoke to years of training, but with a certain casualness that she did not often come across. His arms held her rather closer than was completely socially acceptable, but Rose had no desire to increase the distance, despite the gossip she knew must be circulating around them. John's lips were brushing her cheek, his hands were spanning her waist, his cologne was tickling her nostrils, his heartbeat was in her ear, and Rose thought she might be content to stay here in this moment forever.

When they finally tired of dancing, they moved towards the buffet set to the side of the room. John's expression of delight at the "nibbles," as he called them, was a joy to behold and he went into absolute raptures over the dainty cakes. When he had eaten his full, he threaded her arm through his and they took another turn through the rooms. Rose reveled in the feel of his body so close to hers and the envious glances she was getting from the other young ladies. Eventually, they arrived in the lounge and John leaned against the wall, taking his time to study her openly. Rose avoided his gaze, choosing instead to play with the ends of her shawl and ignore the desire coursing through her veins.

"If I were to tell you that I adore you, would you want me to do so sparingly?" John asked suddenly and there was a noise of a crash behind them. Rose turned to see Henri backing up from a spindly table and hastily exiting the room.

"Adore me?" Rose questioned, giving John an incredulous look.

"Or would you have me tell you as I feel it? With all my heart?" he continued as if there had been no interruption.

"With all your heart?" she repeated, raising one eyebrow. "You don't know me at all."

"Precisely, which is why I wish to know everything." He took a slow step towards her and then another. There was a wild light in his eyes and the lantern cast a strange glow, one side of his face was in shadow causing him to appear more like a jungle cat and less like a human man. 

"I want to know every single detail about you, every thought, every feeling, every piece of your history. But I want you to you to tell me slowly, as slowly as you can." He advanced another step and was out of the shadow, his features once more apparent and his eyes kind, and she sighed with relief. "That way it takes a very, very long time."

Rose fought to keep her breathing even. "I can't quite tell if you're completely out of your mind or..."

"Completely in love with you," John broke in. "Which is really the same thing, when it comes down to it. Irrevocably, totally, entirely, desperately, wholeheartedly in love. It's a sort of madness, I suppose, but the best kind, the sweetest kind. The kind that tortures you ever so pleasurably so that it hardly feels like torture at all."

Rose took a step back, even when every sense was screaming at her to be nearer to him; she needed some clarity. "You move very fast, sir."

His voice lowered further still, though he did not move towards her again. "My heart has set the pace and I cannot slow it down. Tell me how I can prove this to you. Anything you wish, anything you desire, you must merely say the word and it shall be yours. I will tell you anything, offer anything. I will be your humble slave, for you have captured my heart and I cannot..." He broke off suddenly at the sound of the door opening behind them.

"Rose?" It was Michel's voice. "Are you available? The Marchioness Peth would like a word."

"Yeah." It came out a bit strangled and Rose took a deep breath and tried again. "Yes, Mickey, tell her I shall be there directly." She looked back at John on whose face was written all the emotions his words had been expressing, the naked adoration causing her heart to skip several beats. "I am free this Tuesday should you be?"

The smile that broke across his face was akin to that of a drowning man being offered a lifeboat. "I shall be here at 2:00 precisely."

"And I shall look forward to it." Rose gave him a small smile, stepping forward to press a kiss to his cheek before hurrying towards the doorway, not daring to stop to look back, but feeling the fire of his skin on her lips long past the end of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The play Rose is performing is 'Dido Queen of Carthage' by Christopher Marlowe.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose was pacing the length of the drawing room awaiting John's arrival, the events of the ball still running through her mind. A part of her was still reflecting on John's behavior and words. After she had gone to speak with the Marchioness, she had not been able to find him again, and assumed he had left the party early. She could hardly believe that he had meant everything he said, even if his facial expressions had underscored his words with a certain amount of truth. She was unused to that level of passion and adoration. Henri could demonstrate a certain amount of interest towards her, but it had never been to that level, even in their most intimate of moments. Mentally she shook her head; she would find out soon enough, should he ever arrive. Apparently, Sir John Noble, Baronet was not known for his punctuality.

The bigger part of her mind was still mulling over the bit of a note that Ianto Jones had dropped. "Your people, the Dauphin is to be held at Temple. de Jones." The words ran through her mind on a perpetual loop and she was no closer to a suitable explanation now than she had been before. It was obviously referring to the former crown prince; the boy was jailed she did not know where, but she assumed from the note that it was at the Temple Prison. But why that information would be passed around via a scrap of paper, that she did not know. The only answer that rang anywhere near true was that it had something to do with the elusive Doctor. She did not know much about him, no one did, only that he had helped a great deal of the aristocrats escape, most of them from prison right under the noses of the guards. Rose struggled to know what she thought about his actions. On one hand, she could understand Henri's stringent words about what the unknown man was costing the Republic, but some of those executed had been her friends and she knew they had done nothing truly wrong. She was interrupted from further musings by her maid announcing that "Sir John Noble is here, Mademoiselle." 

Rose kept her focus out the eastern facing windows, refusing to turn even when she heard John's approaching footsteps. She was not angry with him for his truancy, but she knew that it was better to be reintroduced to him in small increments, rather than all at once.

"Please forgive me if I have kept you waiting," John spoke, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the timbre of his voice to wash over her, goosebumps rising on her neck and arms.

"Your note had indicated as much," Rose responded, finally allowing herself to turn towards him. She gave herself a moment to let her eyes run over his body, enjoying the figure he cut in his well made suit, but forcing herself to allow the appreciation to only appear in her eyes.

"I had such a struggle finding an acceptable basket, you see. Things like that are extremely hard to come by in your city apparently, more's the pity. I think it would help with the general constitution of you Parisians. Never underestimate the curative abilities of a good picnic," he responded, eyes trained on hers, his gaze growing infinitesimally warmer as he studied her.

"An acceptable basket?" Rose inwardly cursed herself for her seeming inability to do much more than repeat phrases back at him.

"Mmhmm." John looked extremely pleased with himself. "I thought we would have a picnic, they're such lovely things. All fresh air and sunshine and such delightful food. Can't really go wrong with picnics, you know. Well, you can, if there are ants or other annoying creatures, but overall, nothing quite beats a picnic. Except for a long walk and maybe stargazing."

He gestured grandly and Rose watched several valets carry in a large wicker basket. She barely restrained herself from clapping her hands, choosing instead to give him her best smile and clasp his arm to her, allowing him to lead her to his waiting carriage.

As they rode comfortably through the city, he asked her many questions about herself, ranging from her childhood to her current interests and food preferences. He was charming and she found herself drowning in the attention he trained on her. Her concerns about the note vanished as she allowed herself to bask in his interest and affection. She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself to just enjoy a man's company instead of worrying about saying something that could be interpreted as traitorous. Henri was nothing if not loyal to Robespierre and the Republic, often to the ruin of a romantic evening or intriguing conversation. When their carriage approached the city gates, they were predictably stopped and the Sergeant stuck his head in the window asking for papers.

"By the gods, do you not recognize the most beautiful actress in all of France?" John exclaimed, staring in horror at the guard.

The Sergeant inclined his head respectfully. "A man would have to be utterly blind not to recognize Mademoiselle Rose Tyler." He stepped back and shouted at the guards. "Open the gate! Make way for this carriage."

Rose fluttered her fingers at the guards before settling back in the seat and impulsively grabbing John's hand. "Can I just say, this adventure, I love it!" 

He grinned down at her, his eyes radiating adoration. "Me too!"

They rode the rest of the way in silence, their fingers interlocked between them. Occasionally, Rose would glance over at him and he would be staring at her, seemingly transfixed, and she would blush and return her gaze to the scenery. 

When they arrived, John immediately suggested they take a walk before they ate, indicating a brook he wanted her to see that was close to the spot. He chattered as they strolled, offering descriptions of every plant, tree, and bush they passed. Rose was impressed at his extensive botanical knowledge, but found herself amused as he frequently got off topic and seemed a trifle distracted. He would often pause in the midst of a sentence as if he had forgotten where it was headed. She did not find this surprising given his tendency to ramble no matter the topic of conversation. However, the moment they arrived at the brook, John suddenly pulled her into his arms, stopping with his lips mere centimeters from hers. 

"Please allow me this honor, Miss Tyler," he implored her, his brown eyes wide and imploring.

She answered him by closing the distance between them, finally allowing herself the luxury of the feel of his soft lips against her own. He was gentle at first, lips moving against hers almost chastely, but when she daringly brushed his bottom lip with her tongue, he immediately propelled her backwards until she hit a tree, his mouth opening and his tongue caressing hers. Her fingers found their way into his hair, finding it just as soft and pliable as she had imagined. She daringly dragged her nails along his scalp and was rewarded by an obvious stumble in his heartbeat. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily, and he rested his forehead against hers, happiness radiating out of his eyes. At the sight of his slightly swollen lips and his hair in even wilder disarray from her ministrations, she couldn't resist leaning back in to press her lips to his jaw, slightly shocked at her own audacity. 

"My dearest Rose," he said huskily, "Keep that up and I am afraid I will not be able to keep playing the gentleman."

She ducked her head, feeling suddenly shy. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Allow me a moment to breathe before we continue our walk?" 

She nodded, keeping her eyes on his shirtfront, cheeks flaming with embarrassment at her wantonness. He reached out with one finger, tilting her head up and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before stepping around the tree.

Rose stared at the brook in front of her, eyes unseeing as she forced herself to even her breathing and tried to calm her heartbeat. She could hardly believe that she had just kissed him, and not only kissed him, but kissed him like that. A man she hardly knew! But there was just something about him, a twinkle in his eye, a set to his brow, something she couldn't quite put her finger on that seemed to scream that she could trust him. Not to mention the obvious passion he felt for her, something she could almost call love, an emotion she had never felt from Henri in all of their time together.

She felt John's arms come around her from behind and his lips touch the crown of her head, her ear, her jawline and she leaned her head back, resting it on John's strong chest, comforting herself with the sound of his quickened heartbeat, glad to know that she was not the only one affected. His voice rumbled in her ear. "Are you ready for that luncheon now, my lady?" 

In answer, Rose extracted herself from his arms, taking his hand and leading him back towards their picnic. He spent the rest of the afternoon with his every attention fixed on her. Though he continued to demonstrate his tendency to ramble, he no longer seemed to be distracted, it appeared to well from the sheer happiness that emanated from him. She had to stop herself several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming and that this was truly happening to her. The only thing that gave her some pause is that he seemed reluctant to answer when she turned his questions around, but it was only a tiny detail and not one that overly concerned her. For the most part she was able to relax and enjoy his company.

When they arrived back to the Tyler home late that evening, he walked her inside and then paused in the entryway, twisting his hat in his hands. 

"I must not come any further, Miss Tyler, or I am afraid I will not be able to control my actions towards you." He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke and she felt her heart melt completely.

"I understand, Sir John," she responded, laying one gloved hand on his forearm. "I will not tempt your virtue."

"It is not my virtue I worry for," he said darkly, closing the distance between them and taking her in his arms.

He was gentle in his passion, taking the time to press kisses to her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, to finally nibble her lip, and then to taste every corner of her mouth, leaving her bosom heaving with exertion. She clutched his suit jacket with both hands, striving to keep up with him. Eventually he pulled back far enough for her to breath, though he continued to lick and kiss his way along her jawline, and for a moment she believed he really was planning to take this to the bedroom, something she found she did not mind at all, but then he slowly released her, reaching in to press his lips to hers once more, a gentle, almost chaste meeting of skin on skin.

"You are the most delectable, enticing creature I have ever come across," he said, his breathing betraying his emotion. "Walking away from here tonight will be the hardest thing I have ever had to force myself to do. Rest assured, I shall see you on the first possible occasion."

He reached forward and caught her hand, lifting it to his mouth and brushing his lips across the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers. Without another word, he turned and left the house, leaving her speechless and nearly breathless in the entry.

As Rose readied herself for bed, she allowed her mind to wander over the day. She could hardly believe that someone as charming as Sir John Noble was as interested in her as he appeared to be. 

Though her father's inventions had made him favored by the late king, his propensity for stirring up trouble and his marriage to an English woman had given him enemies on all sides. The adoption of Michel, the orphaned son of their cook, had caused the Tyler's estimation to take a sharp downward turn although no one had dared to say anything outright. Though Rose hated to even think it, there was a part of her that was grateful that her parents had not lived to see these difficult times. She was positive that they both would have been arrested and sentenced for their tendency to speak their minds. The result of all of that had been a severe lack of suitors for Rose. 

She had met Henri Koschei at a ball to celebrate her coming of age. He had been fairly charming and well-connected and Rose had felt that she was unlikely to receive a better offer. Her parents had been reticent about offering their opinions on the matter, which was unusual for them, merely telling her to do what she felt she needed. Michel was not so reserved, he respected Henri and did work for him, but he had no desire to be related to him and took every opportunity to inform Rose of this. What she herself felt for Henri was not love nor was it the excitement she had experienced with John, but it was an affection of sorts. She had no desire to hurt Henri with her words or her actions, but she knew she needed to find a way to end things with him, especially if she continued to allow John to spend time with her, something she absolutely planned to encourage. 

Rose stretched to blow out her lamp, thoughts of John and Henri chasing through her head. John had promised to come to see her soon, and as for Henri, well, hopefully he would be available to speak to in the next couple of days as well. She smiled to herself as she crawled under the covers, thoughts of the kiss she had shared with John the only thing she wanted to dwell on at the moment.

 

~~~

 

　  
The following evening, as soon as her closing monologue was complete, Rose rushed to her dressing room, eager to see John once more. She was disappointed when a quick scan of the room showed it to be empty. She dropped despondently into her chair and caught sight of a letter wedged into her mirror frame.

**My precious Rose,**

**I have had to return to England urgently for a matter of business. I did not have time to kiss you farewell and for that I must beg your forgiveness. You will be in my thoughts the entire time I am away and I shall return to you as soon as I am able. I simply cannot wait longer than I must to see your beautiful face once more.**

**Your own,  
John**

Rose could not stop the smile that crossed her face, even knowing that it was ridiculous to be standing alone and smiling like a lunatic. She could just picture his expression while he wrote the words and the idea of him here in her room while she was away was almost unbearably appealing. Almost as fast as the smile crossed her face, it faded as she thought of not seeing John for several days or, god forbid, weeks. She pressed the letter to her lips, inhaling the faint scent of cologne he had left on the paper. With a smile, she tucked the letter into a stack on her table, directly on top of the note from de Jones.


	4. Chapter 4

Michel Smith-Tyler (formally known as Mickey Smith, the poor little orphaned boy of the Tyler's cook) made his way to the center of Paris with a heavy heart. He was beginning to think he agreed less and less every day with the aim of the Republic, thoughts that made him glance cautiously to the side just in case anyone should have the ability to read minds. The last few days had caused him to begin to seriously question the orders that Koschei was giving him in particular, and the overall aim of the Revolution in general. Why just this morning he had confronted Koschei about his arrest of the Count de Souza, a family friend of the Tyler's for years.

_Michel tapped on Koschei's door, his heart fairly pounding with irritation. He stumbled backwards as the door swung open, a young messenger boy scurrying past him._

_"Can’t you see that I’m busy?" That was Koschei's voice and not the sickeningly sweet tone he used on Rose._

_"You have arrested the Count de Souza." Michel could barely contain his irritation, striding into the office and closing the door behind him._

_Koschei surveyed him with a maddeningly calm expression. "I have. I had my orders, same as you."_

_"I gave my word of honor!" Michel exclaimed._

_"Might I remind you that your first duty is to the Republic and not to the Count de Souza and his family." Koschei stood and made his way around the desk, setting a hand on Michel's shoulder. "My dear Michel, such sentiments, especially on the behalf of an aristocrat, could easily be misinterpreted."_

_Michel shrugged off the hand. "You used me."_

_Koschei sniffed. "Yes, and as long as you are here to serve the Committee I shall continue to use you. Now, deliver this to the Captain of the Revolutionary Guard in charge of executions in the Place de la Grève." He handed Michel a folded note and returned to his desk without another glance._

Michel winced as he heard the first telltale noises of Madame Guillotine hard at work. He was not a soldier and did not enjoy the death and bloodshed, no matter the reasoning behind it. He had always made a point to avoid this area when it was active, a point Koschei usually did not press, but he knew that arguing with his superior's decision earlier was the reason behind sending him on this errand.

"DEATH TO THE ARISTOCRACY!" The Captain in charge of the beheadings was obviously skilled at working up a crowd.

"LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC!" The answering shout from the crowd was nearly deafening as Michel wound his way through the crowd to the bottom of the steps to the machine.

"Sir." It was a pleading voice and Michel looked down to see a young woman with golden hair clutching his sleeve.

Michel nodded at her hesitantly, unsure of how to respond, and climbed a few stairs to reach the Captain, handing him the missive from Koschei. He paused and glanced back at the woman. There was something familiar about her brown eyes.

"Must perform these executions with greater haste?!" The Captain's annoyed voice broke Michel out of his reverie. "Well, you just tell Citizen Koschei if he thinks he can do better he's more than welcome to come on down here. Might do him some good to get some blood on those white hands of his." Michel opened his mouth to speak, whether in defense of the Captain or of Koschei he wasn't sure, but the man cut him off. "Ahh, don't tell him that bit."

Before Michel could say anything, the woman approached him, once more clutching his sleeve. "In the name of God, Monsieur, save me. I swear I‘ve done nothing, nothing at all."

"Save your breath, woman." The Captain said, moving around Michel to grab the woman's arm harshly. "He's one of the ones who sent you here."

The change on her face was drastic, going from pleading to blazing anger. She rose to her full height, eyes flashing. "May God have mercy on your soul. You're damned from what you do." She spat at Michel and turned to follow the Captain up the remaining flight of stairs.

Michel wiped his face as he hurriedly strode off, but he wasn't quite fast enough to blot out the sounds of the woman's scream or the rasp of the blade as it descended and took her life.

 

<><><><><><>

 

It was past midnight when Michel awoke screaming and clawing at the blankets, feeling as if his very breath was being choked from his lungs. It was only the calming hands of Marthe that caused him to be aware of his surroundings.

"What is it, my dear?" Her voice was soothing and Michel willed his breathing to calm.

"A dream, a terrible nightmare." He wrapped his arms around Marthe and pulled her close.

"Was it that woman you saw today?" Marthe asked, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"No, it was Rose. She is the one who was headed to the guillotine. She is the one I turned away from. Oh God, what have I done?" He felt the panic from his dream returning and he buried his nose in Marthe's hair, breathing deeply.

"Come here." Marthe pulled him backwards till they were once more reclined against the pillows, her head resting on his chest, her arms wrapped around him. 

"It was only a dream, a nightmare. Sleep now. Rose is safe and so are you." Her words were murmured against his skin.

Michel tried to force himself to sleep, but found that it was not for him, though he stayed long enough to hear Marthe's breathing even out once more. As soon as he knew her to be asleep, he slid from the covers and hurriedly dressed. He had a plan, albeit a half-hatched one.

 

<><><><><><>

 

The following evening found Michel pacing the Library in the Tyler's house, spewing words as John Noble reclined in front of the fireplace, long legs stretched towards the blaze.

"I intend to warn the de Souza's and help them flee if necessary." Michel announced, coming to a halt in front of John with a determined look.

"Now listen here, I did not save your neck from the de Jones' fellow, merely to see you lose your head at the blade of Madame Guillotine." John shook out his lace handkerchief and sneezed mildly. Glancing back up, he caught sight of Michel's eye roll. "What?"

"My mind is quite made up, John. I will warn the de Souza's. There’s no use trying to stop me." Michel threw himself into the chair opposite John's.

"I have no intention of stopping you." John's expression was much aggrieved. "Do you suppose you could get into the Temple Prison to see the Count this evening?"

"Well," Michel shifted in his chair and tilted his head. "I suppose I could. But why would I do so?"

"I have a plan." John said simply, rising to his feet and stretching delicately.

"You? You have a plan?" Mickey snorted. "You, who are practically incapable of your own thoughts on something that isn't fashion related, have a plan? Now really, John, I'm serious here."

"So am I, Michel. Deadly serious." John's tone was completely somber and the previously slightly vapid look was gone from his eyes. In fact, the man who stood in front of Michel could hardly be supposed to be the same man as the one who was courting his sister. Michel scrambled to his feet, eyes widening as John continued speaking. "We must rescue the de Souza family without risking you. You can be far more valuable to us if you stay in league with Koschei and continue to work with the Committee."

"Us? Useful? John, what are you talking about?" 

"Do you honestly swear, by all you hold sacred, that what you are about to hear you will not repeat to anyone?" John's expression was so grim that Michel took an involuntary step backwards.

"Really, John, what do you..."

"Not even to Rose!" John advanced a step, volume of voice rising.

"Are you mad?" Michel couldn't believe his ears.

"Swear it!" John demanded.

Michel heaved a sign. "Yes, alright. I swear."

He watched as John undid his right cuff, slowly rolling his sleeve upwards, revealing a dark word inscribed on his arm. "Do you recognize this?" John asked, eyes never leaving Michel's.

"But that's..." Michel couldn't form words as he stared at the word in equal horror and admiration.

"Correct." John said shortly, rolling his sleeve back down and rubbing his hands together. "Now, we must plan, we don't have much time."


	5. Chapter 5

As Rose finished her performance the following Friday, she made up her mind to ask Marthe to take on the second production of the evening. It had been a long week and all she wanted just then was to head back to her house for some wine and fruit and to rest her eyes. It was with these thoughts that she entered her dressing room to find Henri standing in the middle of it.

"Henri!" she exclaimed, hand going to her heart in surprise.

"Rose, my dear!" he greeted her with a smile and came forward to kiss her cheek. "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She allowed the gesture and then retired behind the screen to change out of her costume. "You just took me by surprise is all." Through the mirror she could see Henri slipping a scrap of paper with burned edges into his pocket. "What is that you're hiding there?"

He pulled the paper out and met her eyes in the mirror. "I could ask you the same thing."

Rose came around the screen, costume still in place, reaching for the note. "You have no right to go through my personal letters."

"Even when those personal letters look a lot like treason?" he asked in a deceptively soft tone.

"Treason? Why surely you know that I had nothing to do with that note. Henri, I swear I found this note completely by accident." Rose schooled her expression and gave Henri her best pleading look.

"Why didn't you come to me directly?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I wasn't sure what to do with it. I wanted to be sure it was important enough before I did anything so drastic as that."

"Drastic?"

"Yes, as drastic as to report it to the Committee," Rose explained, offering a bit of an eyelash flutter for good measure.

"My darling Rose," Henri chuckled, "I am not the Committee. I am merely the man who wishes to one day marry you and I would never betray your secrets."

"You are an agent of the Committee. Surely you would have reported it to them, as your duty." 

"My duty is to you, my dear. I may not always find the way to demonstrate it, but I love you, with all my heart." He leaned forward to kiss her and Rose turned so that his lips brushed her cheek. She was not sure why she was choosing not to make her affections more clear, but thought it best to leave John out of the conversation for the time being. There would be time enough later once she was more sure of John's expectations for the future.

"Forgive me then," Rose said, though for what she was apologizing, she could not say for sure.

"However." He took a step back and folded his hands behind his back. "It is your duty to report these types of things to me. Then I can officially take action. Only then, of course."

"That could mean de Jones' execution and that of his entire family!"

"He is a traitor and personally, I cannot think of a better way to repay him for what he did to your brother," Henri shrugged.

Rose gaped at him. "You cannot honestly think I would send a man and his family to their deaths out of revenge!"

"They're aristocrats!" he exclaimed.

"I couldn't live with myself." Rose shook her head and sank down on her chair.

"In that case, you may have to one day answer to the Republic," Henri said in a grim tone.

"I'd rather answer to the Republic than to my conscience." 

"You disappoint me. You've gone soft, I think." 

"If you mean I'm not bloodthirsty enough for this Revolution of yours, then I rather think I agree with your assessment." Rose tapped her finger on the edge of the table.

"It used to be your Revolution as well. Perhaps you remember that." Henri took a step towards her.

"Yes, but it has taken us in different directions. Possibly my vision was never the same as yours. I see now that what begins as a dream can end as a nightmare. Some causes can become warped and twisted like some men." Rose stood and headed behind the screen, a twinge in her stomach betraying her nerves.

"It’s not difficult to guess the reason for this sudden change of heart. I suspect it’s the company you’ve been keeping lately." There was an edge of bitterness to his voice that Rose was not used to hearing.

"Henri, are you jealous?" Rose stuck her head around the edge of the screen to survey him.

"Do I have a reason not to be?" His disconsolate expression betrayed his feelings on the subject.

"Well, if it helps, Sir John left for England over a week ago." Rose disappeared once more behind the screen, making swift work of her garments and changing into an evening gown. 

"Then you don't know." Henri's voice sounded from the direction of the doorway.

"Know what?"

"That he's back. Has been for nearly a day and a half." 

"In Paris?" Rose couldn't quite disguise the note of joy in her tone. If Henri could not tell where her affections lay with her earlier actions, there would be no hiding it now.

"You know, it truly amazes me that a woman of your taste and intelligence could tolerate such an ignorant fool. If you'll excuse me."

Rose emerged from behind the screen in time to see Henri scoop up his hat and coat and open the door, only to be greeted by John holding a bouquet of flowers. 

"Ahh! Bonjour, Monsieur!" John's delighted tone would have fooled a less intelligent person. "Why, I think you've been taking lessons!" He poked Henri's cravat with his monocle. "That cravat is simply breathtaking."

Henri growled, batting John's hand away from his collar and shoving past him. "Out of my way, idiot." 

As the door closed behind Henri, Rose could contain her excitement no longer, flying across the room to fling her arms around John's neck. His arms closed around her and he spun her in a circle, his delighted laughter ringing out. 

Resting her face in the crook of his shoulder and breathing in his familiar scent, Rose let out a sigh of relief. "I knew you'd be back."

At length John set her down, moving away a bit to see her face. "My dear Rose. I am glad you're pleased to see me, which is a great deal more than I can say for your friend Koschei." He let go of her hand and stepped back. "He has no sense of humor whatsoever, must be the climate. Or maybe his diet. What do you suppose he eats? Oh, before I forget." Catching her hand, John kissed it reverently and presented her with the forgotten bouquet.

"Please don't be so callous about him," Rose pleaded, taking the flowers and setting them aside before catching John's hands between her own. "He's very jealous of us and he frightens me with his Revolution talk sometimes."

"Don't be frightened of him, he's a silly man." John gently drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her hair. "Forget Koschei. In fact, forget every man you've ever known. Except me, of course."

"I wish I could, though sometimes you too confuse me. Are you also an actor? Playing some role on a grand stage?" She shifted in his embrace to better see his face.

"I've told you, my dear, the one thing you should never doubt is my sincerity. Especially when it comes to you." John bent to press a kiss to her brow.

"I am sincere in my belief that behind that silly façade of yours is the real John Noble and I should very much like to get to know him," Rose agreed somewhat breathlessly.

"And you absolutely shall, that I can promise you." John tilted her face to gently kiss her ear, ending with a delicate nip that sent a wave of heat through her.

"When?" Rose forced herself to draw back far enough to question.

"You can marry me and find out," John growled, capturing her lips with his own with a passion that surprised her and all conversation ceased between them for some time to come.


	6. Chapter 6

It was another peaceful, if dull, afternoon by the city gates. Sergeant Andre Ponceau was seated on an upturned bucket playing a friendly game of Faro with the other soldiers. He had a little less than an hour until the changing of the guard and the less action the gate saw in that time, the happier Andre would be. The story of what happened to Fouquet had quickly become legend and Andre was not eager for a repeat of that little escapade under his watch. 

He had just played his final hand (a winning one, he was sure of it), when a cart filled with old barrels rumbled up to the gate, driven by a hunched old woman. Sighing, Andre pushed himself to his feet, making a few ribald jokes about ancient mothers to the other guards who laughed appreciatively. 

"Alright, let's see your papers," he shouted up at the driver.

She extended a gnarled hand. "Here you are son." Glancing over at the gathered soldiers, she cackled, "He thinks I'm an aristocrat." 

The resulting burst of laughter further irritated Andre and he leaned over the wagon's edge, poking at the barrels with the butt of his gun. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The old woman waved her knitting needles in his direction.

"Right." Andre sniffed to himself and circled to the back of the wagon. Using his bayonet to stab a hole in a barrel, he watched disinterestedly as the alcoholic liquid sprayed out.

"Oh dear, my best Bordeaux." The old woman sighed just as a figure emerged from the center of the barrels, face covered in red spots. "Don't hurt him now, Sergeant, he doesn't mean any harm. That's my grandson. Come here then, a word in your ear." She waved her hand at Andre who gave the wagon a wide berth, both eyes fixed on the boy.

"He's got the plague, he does." Her voice was well above a whisper and the other soldiers knocked over the table in their haste to back up, coughing as they did so.

"The plague!" Andre exclaimed in dismay. The last thing the city needed was another outbreak.

"I did try to tell you. I warned you, I did." The old woman shook her knitting at him.

"Get him away from here! You take him out of the city!" Andre motioned for the gate to be opened, covering his mouth with his arm.

"Alright, alright then." She slapped the horses with the reigns, holding out one hand for the papers Andre was still clutching.

"Take them and go!" he shouted, urging the horses along.

"Right you are, Sergeant. Right you are." The old lady moved the wagon through the gates at a leisurely pace. 

Andre returned to his post, collecting the scattered cards with a disgruntled expression. He and his men had just settled into a new game when several soldiers on horseback came flying up, clouds of dust rising around them. 

Andre jumped to his feet, extending his hand. "Papers! Show me your papers."

"Sergeant, an old woman rode past this way with a cart. You were to arrest her at once," the Captain spoke.

"A woman, sir?" Andre took a hasty step backwards. "She rode past not five minutes past."

"And you let her go? That was the Doctor. Open the gates!" The Captain urged his horse forward, barely squeezing his horse through as the gates creaked open. Andre sunk to his seat in dismay, visions of the guillotine dancing in his head.

 

~~~

 

The horses fairly flew along the road in pursuit of the wagon. It didn't take them long to overtake it, but instead of arresting it, they flanked the wagon and together the little group continued further into the woods, finally coming to a halt in a little grove of trees, well shielded from the road.

The driver of the wagon chuckled and then straightened, gaze fixed on the Captain. "Everything go as planned, Jack?"

"Just like clockwork. It was beautiful." The Captain let out a merry laugh.

"Good. You need to be on your way. You've got a good night's ride to the coast and it will be dark soon." As he spoke, the wagon driver was pulling off his wig and removing his false teeth and mole. 

Jack laughed again and then whistled sharply. A carriage appeared shortly through the trees and Jack immediately turned to help one of the soldiers dismount. 

"Mademoiselle." He bowed deeply over her hand and helped her into the carriage. 

Her mother and father were soon revealed as the other soldiers and as they climbed into the carriage the daughter turned to Jack. "Words cannot express our gratitude, Monsieur." 

"It is the Doctor, not I, that deserves your gratitude," Jack said sincerely. 

"I thought for sure that the Doctor was you," she responded with a wistful smile.

"I would never presume to try to fill that role. I don't quite possess that level of courage," Jack answered, remounting his horse.

"I have yet to meet a more courageous man, nor a more handsome one," the woman blushed.

"Christina!" Her mother's scandalized voice sounded from within the carriage and the daughter vanished into it with a scarlet face.

"It is dangerous and we must be on our way," Jack said, sticking his head inside the carriage and giving each member of the party a charming grin.

"Thank you, all of you," the Count said as the door closed on them and the carriage started on its way.

Jack wheeled his mount and with a last tip of his hat to the wagon driver, melted into the forest behind the carriage, leaving the other man sitting alone in his empty cart with a satisfied smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose was seated at her vanity, resplendent in her wedding finery for the final fitting. It had been only three short weeks since John had asked her to marry him, but the current political and social climate was so troubling that neither of them wanted to wait any longer than they had to. The date for the wedding was in less than a week and the plan was for Rose to move to England to John's manor, leaving the Tyler's house to stand empty for visits. 

The past few weeks she had seen John only intermittently; he was frequently making trips back to London to get the house ready for her. When he was in Paris they took advantage of every moment. He took her to picnics and theatres, cafes and art galleries, star gazing and on long drives around the city. With each new excursion, Rose found herself falling a bit more in love with the man.

John was extremely attentive when they were together, wanting to know everything there was to know about her. He was still incredibly reticent to speak about himself, telling her that he would share it all within due time. She was sometimes impatient, yearning to understand what made this man the way he was. However, she trusted him and knew that if he promised her that he would eventually tell her everything then she had confidence that he would keep his word. 

For a single horrible moment, Rose wondered if perhaps she was making a mistake in marrying John, a man who kept secrets and allowed little of his true self to show. Just as quickly, she reigned in her thoughts. John made her feel more alive, more precious, and more loved than any other man she had ever met, Henri included, and a marriage to him could only bring good things.

As her favorite tailor moved around her, pinning here and nipping there, Rose allowed her mind to wander. She and John had made the decision to wait to consummate their relationship until the wedding night. Rose knew John was eager and anticipating the evening greatly, as was she, and the decision had not been an easy one, but he had promised her to reveal all of his secrets at that time. He was adamant about waiting to talk further until after the wedding, saying that she would understand then. For this reason only, Rose would have been willing to wait, but the passion that John had promised through his ardent kisses and heated touches hinted at so much more. 

Rose had experience with the act - Henri could be a passionate man when he chose, but he had never completely followed through, choosing to touch with his fingers only. Not being a completely naïve lady, Rose knew that there was a great deal more to the act than how far Henri had gone with her. Bearing all this in mind, Rose found herself eagerly anticipating the night in question. She knew that John would be a lover well worth the wait.

She was startled from her thoughts by the tailor, commenting on how she must look much like her mother to wear her dress so perfectly.

"No, she was the most beautiful woman in London and Paris. I am nothing in comparison to her radiance. I am glad I was able to alter her dress for me though," Rose said, desperately wishing her parents were here to see this momentous occasion.

She knew that both of her parents would have loved John or, at least, she dearly hoped they would. Her mother had always been overly protective of her daughter's virtue.

"Perhaps it is fitting that the most radiant woman should marry an utter fool." Rose turned in surprise to see Henri striding into the room. "Particularly when that fool is rumored to be the richest man in England."

Rose gestured to her maids and the tailor to leave, waiting until the door closed behind them to turn to Henri with her eyes flashing. "I think you need to leave. I am quite busy here, as you can clearly see."

"I merely came to see what you planned to do about the Marquis de Jones." Henri walked forward until he was directly in front of her.

She sat down at the table, turning her back and observing him through the mirror. "That is my business, not yours."

"No, it is my business. I am Chief Agent for the Committee of National Security and I want to know if you intend to do your duty as a citizen and report him." His tone was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of something that caused Rose's neck hairs to stand on end.

"And if I do not?" Rose forced herself to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Then I shall do it for you." Henri's eyes darkened exponentially.

Rose turned back around with a gasp. "You gave me your word that you would not speak of this."

Catching her hand, Henri twisted it to show the large ring on her finger. "You force my hand."

"If you do this, you will have betrayed my trust." Rose pulled her hand out of his grasp.

"Then it appears we have both misjudged each other." Henri bowed stiffly and left the room.

Rose leaned back in her chair with a sigh of dismay. She wasn't entirely sure what Henri planned to do, but she knew that whatever it was would be out of jealousy and revenge. The Henri she had met five years prior was hardly recognizable in the man who had looked at her with that calculating expression, promising to exact his revenge upon her. She struggled to understand his motivation in this. Henri was loyal to the Republic, that much was true, but surely not to this extent, not enough to disclose dangerous secrets out of spite. Surely he was not that angry about her impending marriage to John. 

Her relationship with Henri had always been friendly with bouts of passion, but she had never taken it completely seriously. Yes, they had spoken of marriage, or rather, he had spoken of marriage as if it was something that was absolutely happening and Rose had always chosen to interpret it as something that had the potential for occurring at some point in the future. She missed the Henri she had first met, the man who had been so open and friendly with her, eyes alight with his eagerness instead of masked by a burning anger towards the aristocracy. She often wondered if he had forgotten that both of them were members of the upper class or if his job made that an inconvenient truth.

As her maids and the tailor reentered the room, quietly and efficiently going back about their tasks, Rose remained deep in thought. Her earlier jovial mood was gone and her stomach clenched with fear as she considered what to do. She had no idea who she could even confide in. John was hardly interested in the affairs of people he did not know. She loved the man, but his mind ran to style and fashion, not to the bloodshed around them. Marthe was an option, but Rose was not extremely close with her and did not wish to worry her about the safety of her father, especially when she was unsure if Henri would even choose to do something. Michel was the obvious choice, but with every passing day he seemed to rise more and more in Henri's opinion and Rose worried that he was probably already aware of what Henri was planning, if not complicit in it. She found it a little odd that he would plan the death of Marthe's father, but she had seen worse things in the last few years.

When the tailor finished, Rose allowed her maids to change her into an evening gown and then decided to take a stroll through the house. Even if she could not share her troubles with Michel, she was getting married and moving to England in less than a week, and she wanted to speak to her brother.

She found him pacing in the Library with a concerned expression on his face. She was unsure if he would want to share his troubles with her, and she could not share hers with him, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of everything. She bit her lip and went to him, wrapping her arms around her brother and burying her face in his shoulder. For his part, he seemed unsurprised by her sudden affection, simply holding her until she regained the ability to stand on her own.

"I'm sorry Mickey." His childhood nickname seemed natural to use. 

"Don't apologize." He led her to the settee and the two of them sat down. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

With all her soul Rose wished she could share everything with him just like she always had, but things were changing and they were no longer children talking about childish things. "I'm getting married in less than a week."

"Yes, you are. And you're happy with that?" His eyes were worried.

"I am, yes. John is a good man and I am excited for our life together." Rose smiled. This at least was something that she knew to be true.

"John is a very good man." Michel spoke with such assurance that it shocked her; he'd never seemed particularly fond of the man. "You are making an excellent choice."

"You really think so?" Rose knew there was a certain amount of insecurity in her voice, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Absolutely. You will find that out soon enough, I think." He paused and then laughed. "Much better than Henri."

Rose looked at him with surprise. Perhaps she could share her concerns if his opinions of Henri had changed. "You don't like Henri then?"

Michel gave a slightly embarrassed laugh and looked away. "I did not say that. He's a good enough man, definitely has a talent for what he does. I just don't like the idea of him marrying my sister. I'm glad you chose John."

Rose tried to hide her disappointment. "Yes, I would agree. I think Henri has changed since we met."

"Remember when Father met him? I don't think I have ever seen him so irritated," Michel chuckled.

She smiled at the memory. Her father had never warmed to Henri, often raging against him in private and walking the line between rudeness and civility in his presence. It was one of the reasons that caused her to be slightly grateful that her father had not lived to see these times. His ever-present hostility towards Henri would have gotten him killed as soon as Henri had been promoted. 

"Mother did not like him very much either," she said dryly.

They both laughed as they remembered Jacqueline Tyler's legendary personality; she had truly been a woman to be reckoned with. Her parents met while her father was on a business trip in London; he had instantly fallen in love with the stubborn, outspoken woman. Jacqueline had not always loved living in Paris and demanded to keep her English last name as well as name her daughter something recognizably British. It had also been her idea to adopt Michel, giving him full status and a proper education. Her husband could refuse her nothing. 

The rest of the evening Michel and Rose spent in reminiscence of their shared childhood, remembering fond stories and favorite moments. They drank and ate and laughed and if either of them noticed that the other appeared distracted, they did not mention it.


	8. Chapter 8

"I will." John's voice was sincere though riddled with emotion as he stood next to Rose in the wedding chapel. 

"I will." Rose spoke with all the conviction she felt.

Michel who was standing in for Rose's father, placed her hand in John's.

"I, John, take thee, Rose, to be my wedded wife." 

I, Rose, take thee, John, to be my wedded husband."

Jack handed a ring to the priest who in turn handed it to John.

"With this ring, I thee wed. This gold and silver, I thee give. With my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen." John slid the ring firmly onto her finger and then put his hands on her waist, pulling her towards him, and capturing her lips with his.

 

~~~

 

"We're leaving for London in the morning," Rose smiled at Marthe, her joy evident. "Michel will be visiting in a few days. I feel that we are all abandoning you."

"Don't you worry, I think I shall find ways to keep myself busy, but are you really going in only a few days?" Marthe glanced towards Michel with concern.

"Yes," Michel answered. "Koschei has just had me appointed as special envoy to London."

"Oh, congratulations." If Rose's voice lacked sincerity it was chalked up to distraction by those around her.

 

~~~

 

"My word, Jack, just look at her." John stood a little ways from Rose, leaning casually against the fireplace. "Am I not the most fortunate man alive?"

"She is beautiful." His friend's tone was appreciative.

John swung his head around to fix him with a hard look. "That's my wife you're lusting after, Jack Harkness."

Jack laughed. "I'm in love with your sister, remember? But I do have eyes and I can appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one."

"Just as long as you admire her from a distance, a great distance. Preferably from a different town, in fact, I think some time spent here in Paris for the next month or so would do you some good," John said conversationally. "Or have you considered moving across the ocean? I hear the colonies are lovely this time of year." 

"Don't worry, John, I'm not going to steal your wife from you." Jack rolled his eyes and raised his glass in the direction of Rose.

 

~~~

 

"My dear, you are more beautiful than I could have imagined," John whispered in Rose's ear, causing a shiver down her backbone.

"I am glad you approve," Rose said softly.

"Approve? Rose, I am enchanted. I find I can hardly wait until we have time on our own."

"A few more hours yet, for appearance sake." Rose turned in his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"I don't know how I will survive," he murmured in her ear before taking a step back and melting into the crowd.

 

~~~

 

"Look at that display," Henri sneered, "The audacity to behave like that in public."

"Times are changing, Henri. And they are newlyweds. Concessions must be made for that," the young woman he was speaking to said calmly.

"Times are not changing that much, Lucia," Henri's lip curled slightly. "But I must admit to some anticipation as to how long their affair lasts."

 

~~~

 

"Marthe, it seems the world wants you to move to England," Rose laughed.

"Well, Michel has asked me to come along to be his wife," Marthe said, glancing away shyly.

"And give up a perfectly good career? Don't do that, Marthe, he isn't worth it," Rose pseudo-whispered.

"I heard that, Rose." Michel walked up behind her and gave her an annoyed look. "I am a charming and sophisticated man."

"Of course you are." Rose patted his arm.

"Isn't that what you're doing though, Rose?" Marthe asked.

"Well, yes, but John is absolutely worth it," Rose said, with a soft smile in the direction John had vanished too.

 

~~~

 

John leaned against the fireplace, across the room from Rose, but with his gaze fixed firmly on her.

"I must say, I don't think I've ever seen her look happier," one of the men nearby remarked.

"As well she might, Rhys," another man responded. "On the day she marries the man she loves, she has revenge on the man she hates."

"The man she hates, Adam?" Rhys raised an eyebrow at the man.

"Yes, the Marquis de Jones." The man's voice dropped to a near whisper. "For what he did to her brother." 

John cast a concerned glance at his friends. "And what sort of revenge might that be?"

"Oh, having him arrested for treason, of course," Adam responded carelessly.

John pushed himself away from the wall and approached the man. "And what leads you to believe my wife was involved in this?"

"Oh, come on, Sir John. You need have no pretenses with me. I saw the warrant for his arrest with my own eyes." The other man chuckled slightly.

"I do not believe it," Jack said, his eyes fixed firmly on John.

"Your wife's name was on it." Adam waved a hand, "Don't fear on my account. I understand the need for discretion." He started to move away.

"John, don't..." Rhys began, but John raised a hand at him and started after the other man.

"A man may be sent to the guillotine for this," he said darkly.

"My dear Sir John, have you not heard? The Marquis de Jones and his family were beheaded this very morning." Adam was starting to look concerned.

"All of them?" John demanded.

"Well, yes. Except Marthe, of course. I actually assumed you already knew this," Adam faltered. "I thought that, well, I presumed...excuse me," he broke off and hurriedly walked away. 

"I'm truly sorry," Jack said in a quiet voice and Rhys murmured his agreement.

"She must never know that I suspect any of this," John voice was low. "We are about to embark on our most dangerous rescue yet and nothing can stand in the way. From this moment on, she must never be trusted. We cannot risk betrayal. I only hope that I can conceal from her the horror I feel at what she has done."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter carries a noncon warning. Please read with caution and remember the times in which this story takes place.*

As Rose said goodbye to the last guest she felt her stomach clench with an unfamiliar wave of fear. John's behavior had changed towards her halfway through the afternoon and she had no idea what could have caused it. She had gone over to ask him to dance and he had been stiff, his usual tender smile gone. The look in his eyes was vacant, his attention far away, and his touch nearly clinical. Her attempts to get him to smile or even talk to her had gone mostly unnoticed. She was half tempted to run after Michel, begging him for what she wasn't sure. She and John had spoken their vows and made their promises, the time for doubt was gone. She had to only learn to live with this man she had chosen to marry.

Desperately she hoped she was wrong, that he had been merely distracted and that the loving, passionate man she had known would return, but the rational part of her brain told her that she was a fool. He had looked at her like she was abhorrent and the memory of it caused a shiver to run through her. She could not begin to understand what had caused the sudden switch in him; she could recall nothing that she had done to warrant it. Perhaps she had joked too loudly or been too friendly to another man? She knew he was frequently given to jealousy, but John had withstood Henri's attentions without treating her this way and it did not follow that he would choose to react with irritation now.

Rose turned and made her way slowly through the house, ascending the stairs with a heavy heart. She did not meet John on her way to her bedroom and prayed that he would not come to her that night. Perhaps he no longer wanted to touch her and their marriage would remain unconsummated. She had hardly changed into a plain chemise and dismissed her maid before a knock sounded on her door and she moved to open it with a sense of dread.

John stood in the hall, still nearly fully dressed; only his jacket had been shed. She felt an involuntary skip to her heart, there was no denying her attraction to this man, but his eyes were hard and his expression closed off. He did not speak as he brushed past her, entering her room with a few quick steps. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it as she worked to calm her nerves. He stood in the middle of the room, mostly encased in shadow, and it felt like an eternity before either of them spoke or moved.

Without warning, he strode towards her, his fingers closing on her waist and he kissed her with a bruising force. It was different than anything they had shared thus far, there was little finesse or passion. This was not about want or hunger, this was dominance, proving a point that she was unaware needed to be made. He plunged his tongue into her mouth immediately, the taste of alcohol threatened to overwhelm her, she could almost pick out the individual flavors of his drink, whiskey with a hint of spice. She could feel the evidence of his arousal against her thigh as he pulled her against him sharply, and it caused her to shiver, a movement that only tightened his grip on her. She knew where this was going and felt helpless to stop him, unsure if she even should; after all, he was her husband and this was his right. He pulled away far enough to allow her to breathe and she was vaguely aware of him panting in her ear. She wanted to say something, to talk about what was happening, but when she opened her mouth, his lips descended once more and she choked back the words.

He maneuvered her through the room as if she was nothing, his nails jabbing into her upper arms, and when her knees hit the edge of the bed, he pushed her backwards and she fell hard. He crawled over her and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see his face, his eyes usually so warm were cold and angry. His fingers dug into her side hard enough to leave a bruise and when he sank his teeth into her shoulder she had to bite back a groan, afraid to make a sound, afraid of how it would affect his behavior. She heard her gown rip as he tore it forcefully from her body, the chill of the room immediately bringing a clarity she did not wish to have. She was overly aware of his hands, one of them squeezing her exposed breasts and the other dipping without warning into her sex and stroking roughly, almost angrily.

Her body arched into his hands involuntarily, he was obviously talented and knew what he was doing and she could feel her body preparing itself, aware of the growing wetness between her thighs. She kept her eyes tightly shut as he bit and licked his way around her neck, collarbone, and breasts, the smoothness of his skin against hers nearly scorching. His fingers rapidly pumped in and out of her, seemingly timed to the rapid beat of her heart and she could feel his signet ring bumping her thigh at each movement of his hands. He was oddly silent, his exertion only evident by his heavy breathing. She was unsure what to do with her own hands, settling on fisting them into the duvet, hesitant to touch him, fearful of unknowingly inciting more of his rage.

He reached down between them and divested himself of his trousers and she could almost feel the anger rolling off of him, consuming her with its intensity. She felt the first touch of his hard length pressing into her and she suddenly became aware of the fact that she had tears running down her cheeks and though she tried to suppress them, she couldn't quite manage it. As he pushed into her, she bit down hard on her lip, keeping herself silent, not wanting him to know how much he was hurting her. The pain was unlike anything she had experienced and his fingers had not adequately prepared her for this level of agony; for a moment she was sure that she was actually on fire, the raging inferno that was him and the excruciating pain that was her, igniting together. Slowly she came back to herself and she was once more aware of him moving within her, setting a nearly punishing pace, his pants coming harder now, interspersed by tiny groans that he was obviously biting back. She turned her head to the side, fastening her gaze on her armoire, and tried to force herself to think of something, anything else. 

It wasn't easy, this was the man she had loved, didn't know how not to love despite his current actions, and she couldn't help trying to rationalize it; perhaps this was the way he thought it was supposed to be. After all, they hadn't discussed the act itself in explicit detail; there was always the chance that he was unaware of any other way to consummate things between them. Even as she tried to explain away his behavior, there was a large part of her that was screaming that she had made the biggest mistake of her life, that she had unknowingly married a tyrant and was in for a lifetime of hell. 

As his grunts became louder and his thrusts stronger, she raised one hand from the bed, grasping his arm to anchor herself against the nearly overwhelming agony. He paused slightly when her hand wrapped around his wrist and then resumed with renewed vigor, his thrusts driving her into the bed. She could taste the faintly metallic evidence of blood, aware that she was close to biting almost clean through her lip, and she unconsciously tightened her hand around his arm. One of her thumbs slipped under his cuff and she was vaguely aware of a raised area on his arm, a scar, her mind supplied, but just as quickly as she felt it, he wrenched his arm from her grasp, catching her wrists and pinning them above her head. He slammed into her once more with an audible grunt, his whole body going stiff above hers before he slumped downwards, though he still held himself arched away from her. 

For a long moment neither of them did or said anything and then he rolled off of her, sitting up and facing away. He sat there for so long she lost track of the time, frozen into place, afraid to move or break the silence, afraid that he would decide to do something else to prove his dominance. She could not see his face, but somehow she knew he was debating on speaking. At long last he stood up, quickly making his way towards the exit; in the doorway he paused once more before he finally vanished into the hallway, the slam of her door echoing through the silent house. 

Only then did she allow herself to give in to the tears, shoulders shaking. How long she sobbed into her pillow she did not know, but eventually she forced herself to get up, awkwardly stripping the duvet from the bed and mechanically cleaning herself. When she had pulled on a new gown, she propelled herself into the bed, ignoring the sudden wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She lay awake for a long time, her mind completely blank, staring at the dim ceiling and refusing to blow out the lantern, trying not to inhale the lingering stench of sex and cologne.


	10. Chapter 10

Rose sat at her dressing table, staring disconsolately at her reflection, paying little attention to her maids as they fussed over her hair. The bedroom she was in was ornate and marvelous, the wood of the highest quality, the bedclothes imported, but it was impersonal and had never been touched by the force of love. Rose's lip twisted as she considered that she ought to be thankful that it had never been touched by the force of passion either. She rarely saw John these days, he interacted with her only when absolutely necessary and took frequent trips back to Paris.

The Noble Mansion was huge with rambling corridors and extensive grounds. Rose found comfort in taking a book and making an attempt to get lost in both the mansion and in a fictional world. The only bright spots in her days were the regular visits that Michel paid them. The sight of a friendly face was a welcome relief to the coldness that seemed to seep into Rose's very bones. She had made a few friends amongst John's extensive social circle and no one was ever outright rude to her, but the difference between the French and British social constructs was taking more getting used to than she had anticipated. Of course, back then she had believed that she would have John by her side as she navigated the differences. As it was, John frequently left her alone at social gatherings, himself surrounded by admirers on all sides

They had been invited to a garden party at the Harkness' mansion and Rose both loathed and welcomed the idea of what the afternoon would bring. She half hoped that John would let slip some sort of clue that would explain his complete switch in behavior towards her. She had spent countless hours replaying every moment of her actions for the brief month and a half of her pre-wedding relationship with John, and had come up depressingly blank on anything that could have caused his disdain. There were days when Rose almost wished that the burning anger of their wedding night would return; since then he had closed himself off, his manner and tone clipped and impersonal. At least the anger meant he had still felt something for her. This cold man who had taken his place seemed completely emotionless.

At length her maids signaled that they were done with her hair and Rose forced herself to stand, taking a moment to practice a smile before turning and leaving the room. She kept the smile in place as she moved through the house in search of her husband, eventually finding him in the study deep in conversation with Michel, though all talk ceased the moment she stepped through the door, something that was a frequent occurrence much to her dismay.

"Ahh, my dear!" The false cheer in John's voice did nothing to lift her spirits, nor did the way he lifted his monocle to look at her. "I shall speak with you later." The last bit he directed towards Michel in a much lower tone.

"Of course. I shall be here when you return," Michel responded, bypassing him to reach Rose and kissing her cheek. "I will see you later."

"Send my love to Marthe." She could feel her smile become more genuine when it was directed towards her brother.

"Shall we?" John's voice sounded from her elbow and she took his outstretched hand without a word or a glance. 

Though their hands remained together until they reached the carriage, it was not the way they used to hold hands, fingers intertwined and palms touching. No, this was fingers resting against fingers - in some ways Rose thought she would rather hold a limp fish.

They rode together in near silence. John twirled his cane and looked out the window, humming tunelessly under his breath as if he did not have a care in the world. She wondered what new thing she had done to cause his displeasure; during past excursions he had at least made an attempt to hold some sort of conversation. The only thing that gave away his discomfort was the set of his jaw, he was obviously clenching his teeth and she took a sort of perverse pleasure in knowing he was not as comfortable as he appeared. 

They were announced as Sir John and Lady Noble and Rose thanked her years of being an actress that she was able to keep the grimace off of her face. As soon as she could, she excused herself to find a quiet place to settle her nerves. She took refuge behind a large tree, knowing that if anyone caught her, she would be unbearably shamed, but John's level of coldness towards her this afternoon was more overwhelming than she had thought it would be. She knew she was foolish to keep getting her hopes up over him, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Just as she was taking a deep breath and about to make her way back to John, she heard several ladies' voices, obviously gossiping. Her name arrested her attention and she froze into place.

"They say Lady Rose only married him for his money."

"Well, no one else would have him, he's such an idiotic fop." The second woman's tone was strident.

"No denying he has got a certain roguish charm, you can see why she set her eye on him." 

"Hmmph. The man has not even two bits of sense in that scattered brain of his."

"Still they seem happy," the first woman said generously.

"Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, he is always rushing back to Paris, two trips in just the last fortnight. There would be no reason for that if he did not have a mistress back there."

"Do you really think so?" 

"Would bet money on it, if I was that sort of woman." 

Their voices faded as they moved away and Rose felt the familiar icy fingers of fear and doubt squeezing her heart tighter. Was it true? She did not doubt his ability to keep a mistress - he could certainly be charming when he wanted to be. Maybe it was the commitment and domestication that caused his overwhelming anger towards her. Had she forced him into a marriage he had no desire for? She did not know how she could be expected to keep her head high when rumors such as that one dodged her footsteps. Suddenly aware that she had been away for longer than was socially acceptable, she forced herself to move away from the comfort of the tree and go in search of her husband.

She found John conversing with a small group that included Sir Robert of the Torchwood Estate, a man of no little means and influence. Rose was introduced to him and she curtsied deeply, offering him a pleasant smile.

"I was just telling John that he was fashionably late per usual," Sir Robert chuckled merrily.

"Ahh, 'twas this damned cravat. I simply could not get it to tie correctly. Why even now it refuses to lie the way it should, sticking out like a pin cushion. Just look at it." John gave a mournful sigh.

"I should have known it would be something earth-shatteringly important." Sir Robert winked at Rose.

"I'm afraid that my husband is being a gentleman," Rose spoke up. "I fear I am the one to blame for our tardiness."

"Well, in that case, all is forgiven," Sir Robert kissed Rose's hand and then clasped it in his. He began a meandering path across the lawn and Rose had no choice but to go along with him, aware of John at her other side. "Tell me, how fares our young fugitive?"

"Fugitive?" Rose raised one eyebrow delicately. "I am not a fugitive, perhaps a captive."

"Surely you are not kept here by force, Madame?" Sir Robert gave her a rather shocked look.

Rose forced herself to let out a tinkling laugh. "Yes indeed. I am held captive by the force of love for my husband." Even as she spoke, she was unsure of whether her words were true or not, only that they were the correct thing to say. 

"Upon my word John, but I envy you," Sir Robert spoke with warmth. "You'll have to keep an eye on her otherwise I might exercise my droit du seigneur and steal her away." 

All three of them laughed, but there was a great deal of difference between Sir Robert's hearty laugh and John and Rose's polite chuckle. Sir Robert bid them farewell not many moments later and John and Rose continued their stroll in silence. Just as they reached the foot of the stairs leading to the food tables, Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams came running towards them merrily, hand in hand. Gwen caught Rose by the shoulders, dragging her into an impromptu hug.

"Rose! John! You'll never guess! Rhys has asked me to marry him and I have said yes!" Gwen gushed, fairly bouncing with joy.

"Well, if you haven't gone and done it. And after everything. Congratulations then, old chap," John said with a delighted clap of his hands.

"Oh I'm so happy for you, Gwen." Rose smiled in genuine happiness at the woman. Gwen Cooper was a charming and friendly person who did not seem to discriminate based off of one's background or social status or understanding of British manners.

The happy couple had barely finished thanking them for their well wishes when Countess Cooper came rushing up to them, Jack Harkness trailing behind her with a worried look.

"Gwyneth! I forbid you to have anything to do with that woman!" Her mother's tone was strident and it rang through the afternoon like a bell. With a sinking heart, Rose recognized it as the same woman who had been gossiping earlier.

"Mama!" Gwen exclaimed. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"She has blood on her hands. We just received word from our cousins in Paris that she has denounced de Jones and sent him and his entire family to the guillotine," her mother announced.

"My dear Countess, you really must not..." Jack began.

"Do you deny it?" The Countess asked, leveling Rose with a look.

Rose felt the blood drain from her face as she became aware of the complete silence around her, everyone's gaze trained on her. "I neither confirm nor deny your accusations," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "And you are neither my judge nor is this a trial."

"That may be true, Madame, but God himself will judge you for your sins," the Countess spoke with all the conviction of a Priest.

With a pleading look, Rose turned towards John. His eyes were averted from her, seemingly interested in a peacock strutting its way across the lawn. "Will you not say anything?"

He cast her a bored look. "What is there to say?"

"You will not even defend your wife's honor?" Rose could not help the way her voice shook.

"Good heavens, my dear. What would you have me do? Challenge the Countess to a duel?" John shook his head slightly, his gaze sliding off her face to return to the peacock.

There was a smattering of laughter behind them that quickly died away and Rose turned to see Jack and Rhys escorting the ladies away, though Gwen kept glancing back at Rose with a worried expression. With a shaky sigh, Rose returned her gaze to her husband's face, searching it for a sign that he still cared about her at all. After a moment, he held out his hand, his gaze still trained on the peacock and she took it, holding it as lightly as she could manage.

"So, my dear. It seems that you have found a way to repay de Jones after all." John sounded as if he were discussing what the weather would likely be.

Rose jerked to a halt, forcing him to stop also. "Can you really believe that, John?" She could feel tears pressing against the back of her eyes, but was helpless to stop them.

For the first time in weeks, John met her gaze. "Can I really believe otherwise?"

With a strangled sob, Rose jerked her hand out of his and fled across the lawn, her cape billowing out behind her. She gave no mind to anyone she passed, intent only on finding a place where she could allow her heart to shatter in peace. When she found herself on the far side of the massive lawn, she hurried up the steps to a small gazebo with relief, sinking onto the bench and finally allowing herself to give in to her tears. How long she sat there, she did not know, but eventually she became aware that someone else had entered the gazebo and slipped a comforting arm around her. When she had finally gained control of her sobs, she saw that it was Gwen, a concerned expression on her face.

"Oh Gwen, what can I do?" Rose choked out. "I have lost my husband's love and I have no idea why."

"Lost his love? Rose, how can you say that? That man worships the very ground you walk on, everyone can see that," Gwen said, pressing a handkerchief in Rose's hand.

"Maybe he did once. Back in Paris. But now he plays a role in private as well as in public. It's almost as if he wishes to torment me. Sometimes I still catch a glimpse of his love. A fleeting look, a glance he thinks I don't see. But it passes so quickly I am never sure it was even there to begin with. I do not know what I have done to have warranted his disdain." 

She found she had no more tears to shed, but she could not bring herself to move either. For a long time she sat there with Gwen in relative silence, both women lost in their thoughts.

Rose reflected on the various accusations made against both her and John in the course of the past hour or so. She did not want to believe that he would have a mistress back in France, but it would explain his frequent jaunts back and forth. As much as the idea of him with another woman, showering her with all the love and attention that had once been hers caused a new ache to settle in her chest, she felt like she could learn to live with that. Many men had mistresses, it was not unusual, particularly ones who had been as carefree as John had been for years. She had been a fool if she had once believed him to be any different, to believe that he would only be faithful to her, that she could cure him of a decade of bachelorhood.

No, it was not the idea of a mistress that was causing Rose's heart to shatter. It was the thought that John believed her to be capable of sending someone to their death and that he was not interested in even hearing her defense. Had they not once spoken at length about peace in France and about seeing an end to the bloodshed and terror? Did he believe that everything she had ever said to him was a lie and that she was just as cruel as Henri? 

She struggled to work out how her name had become connected to the de Jones' death. There was a faint voice in her head that reminded her of her final argument with Henri, which she initially dismissed. Henri could be jealous and he was extremely loyal to the Republic, but he could not be that cruel and vindictive towards her, a woman he had once proclaimed himself to be in love with. Could he? The more she thought about it, however, the more it began to fall into place. Henri had maybe once loved her, but he loved the Republic more and he had never made any secret of his hatred for John. It made an odd sort of sense that he would choose to malign her name on the eve of her wedding. She knew that John held to a strict code of pacifism, disliking combat or bloodshed of any sort, and he had made his opinions on the Revolution abundantly clear on many occasions. How that led to his seeming overwhelming hatred towards her, she could not work out, but she supposed that in his mind it must make a certain amount of logical sense. 

There was a part of her that was relieved to have a reason for John's behavior. For whatever reason, Henri's accusations had completely destroyed whatever love that John had once felt for her, causing him to behave the way he had. The fact that he had not repeated his actions from their wedding night was enough to cause Rose to believe that he, at least on some level, regretted what he had done to her. It did not make it easier to bear, she still cried herself to sleep frequently, her rest plagued by nightmares. However, what she had said to Gwen was true - she could occasionally catch glimpses of the man she had known in Paris in quiet moments, when he thought her attention was elsewhere. Despite everything that had happened between them, he was still the man she married, somewhere inside him was still the man who had loved her, treasured her, adored her, would have done anything for her and she could not hate him, no matter how she tried.

For a wild moment, Rose considered running back to John and begging him to listen to her, explaining everything that happened, but she doubted that he would even want to pay attention, let alone believe her. He had made it abundantly clear that he had already tried her and found her guilty, it was highly unlikely that a few impassioned words would suddenly change his mind. She knew that there was nothing she could say about the past that would help her case, but it was possible that she could somehow prove through her actions that she would not have accused the de Jones' family deliberately. There was still the slight chance that she could regain John's trust and perhaps even his love. With that decision, she stood and extended her hand to Gwen, ready to face both the party and her husband.

 

~~~

 

As Rose and John made their way up the grand staircase late that evening, Rose paused at the door that led to her room. 

"John? What are you planning on this evening?"

"Ahh, bed. Of course." John covered a sudden yawn behind his hand. "I have a very early appointment in the heart of London tomorrow that I simply must not be late too."

"To the tailors, no doubt," Rose said dryly, turning away slightly.

"The boot makers, actually. This leather is shoddy and I dislike the placement of the buckle. I really must complain."

"Oh John, what happened to you?" Rose implored, throwing aside her fears and facing him head on. "Where is the man I once knew?"

"I am standing right here, my dear," John said, giving her an inquisitive look.

"No. What is standing before me is a façade. A remnant of the man that I used to know. This is some role you are playing, a mantle you take up for some whim. I cannot understand your reasoning, maybe you wish to keep the world away? Except, now you're shutting me out completely also. You once promised me that I would be allowed to know the man behind the mask. I know a great deal less about him now than I did then." She searched his face for some sign of his thoughts, but his expression did not change.

He shrugged expansively. "Perhaps there is no more to know. I am really not all that interesting."

"I refuse to believe that," Rose said softly. "I will not believe that. The man I fell in love with is still there somewhere. I shall not stopping loving him and waiting for him to return to me."

John looked as if he wanted to speak, pitching forward slightly on his toes, before settling back and closing his mouth. "Goodnight, Rose." Before she could close the door, he was already walking away.


	11. Chapter 11

"My word, Michel, whatever are you doing up at this hour?" John leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the edge of his desk, and fixed his brother-in-law with a concerned stare.

"I'm afraid I must get back to the embassy. Koschei has just sent word. He is expecting me in the morning," Michel replied, pacing fitfully up and down the rug. 

"What news of the courier?" John resisted the urge to tell the boy to sit before he completely wore a hole through the Oriental rug.

"None at all," Michel said shortly.

"Odd. You have made inquiries, I assume?" Michel was not quite the idiot John had originally taken him to be, but it didn't hurt to double check these things.

"I've tried, but it's proven very difficult. Koschei is getting more suspicious of everyone by the day, including me. I am not as much in his favor as I once was, John."

John took a deep breath. "You have performed an invaluable service to us these past few months. Without you, we would not have any idea of the boy's fate." 

"Well, when I think of what they are doing to that boy," Michel broke off and then continued, "Why? What do they hope to gain by doing that to a child?"

"To render him useless to anyone who tries to rescue him. This sort of thing is the oldest form of torture in the world and the most useful. It needs a good name, washing? Brain scrub? Brainwashing? Anyway, not important at the moment. Time is running out for him, he is too young to withstand their methods for much longer. We must act soon or they will succeed, and we will not be able to do anything with him once we get him." John picked up his glass and sighed when he found it empty.

"Have you a plan?" 

"Of course I have a plan." John cast an annoyed look at Michel. "We wait only for the news of any change in the boy's routine. Luke is in Paris now and he shall send word immediately. As soon as that happens we must move, swiftly and surely. That's why these communications are so important. The next may be the signal."

"Very well, I'll keep my ear to the ground and see if I can hear anything else about the courier." Michel turned for the door. "Say goodbye to Rose for me?"

"Of course." John dismissed him with a wave. 

The other man lingered in the doorway for a long moment and then cleared his throat. "How long are you going to continue tormenting her? Are you never going to give her a chance to explain herself?"

"Consider the facts, Michel," John said harshly. "If she could betray the de Jones' family, your fiancée's family, might I remind you, she is capable of anything. Even spying for Koschei."

"You need to ask her. I know Rose and this is not at all like her. What proof do you even have? Not once while she has been here has she even attempted to contact him." Michel's voice rose with his fervor.

"I cannot risk it. Nothing is more important than the boy. Not even Rose." John stood deliberately and went to refill his glass.

"I hate seeing her so unhappy. And I don't like to think that you have ceased to love her." He reminded John vaguely of a dog with a favorite bone.

"Ceased?" John turned and took a step towards Michel. "Listen closely, Mickey, I shall love her and only her until the day I die. That is the true tragedy of this whole thing. There will never be another for me, no matter her actions. But it is truly none of your business. And you need to go now. You've a long road ahead of you."

John turned his back and waited until he heard the door close behind Michel before slumping his shoulders, blowing out the lantern and moving to the armchair. He stared into the flames in the fireplace, mind going to the woman asleep upstairs. It had been two months since the wedding - two months yesterday, to be precise - and he was no closer to understanding her betrayal now than he had been then. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He understood it well enough. Understood that she had sent an innocent man and his wife to their deaths with hardly a second thought. What he could not begin to comprehend was how a seemingly innocent and loving woman such as Rose could nonchalantly send people to die out of some misguided sense of justice. That was not the woman he had fallen in love with. He had always thought himself to be a good judge of character, it was what made him good at what he did, but this woman had completely blindsided him.

Yes, when he had met her he had been instantly attracted to her looks, her soft smile, compassionate eyes, and beautiful figure, but it was her personality, her quick wit, clever sense of humor, and razor sharp intellect that caused him to fall head over heels in love with her. He had done his research of course, he wasn't stupid, and nowhere had he seen a hint or a sign, not even a whisper that she could be capable of blithely handing over people to the guillotine. There was the small matter of her relationship with the lapdog of the Republic, Henri Koschei, but by all reports it was one-sided and failing, with rumors of unhappiness and arguments behind closed doors.

In his darker moments he bitterly wished he had left Rose with Koschei. The two would make a perfect pair, condemning people by day and partying by night. It caused him to hate himself a little more each time it crossed his mind, but he hated himself for a lot of things and the list grew longer with each day and each new encounter with his wife. What he had said to Michel was the truth, he did love her, adored her even. He was not a man in the habit of easily giving his heart away and it was his misfortune that when he did, it was to this woman who held it firmly between her blood soaked hands.

He took another long draught of his whiskey, the burn of it a welcome underscore to his self-hatred. It was nights like this, nights when Rose offered forgiveness and her unconditional love that found him down here for long hours, unable to sleep for fear of what he might do. He had done a lot of things in his lifetime that he regretted, but none more than nearly raping his wife. The thought of her experiencing pain and terror at his hand was enough to cause him to nearly double over in agony. No matter how many times he had replayed that night, he could not recall what his reasoning had been. Yes, they had needed to consummate their marriage, but there was no law that said it had to be done on the wedding night. He could have waited, waited until his anger cooled, waited until he did not feel the need to crush her, to cause her to feel a fraction of the misery that had been coursing through his veins. But he had not waited. He had slipped into the Library, drunk several glasses of whiskey, and then gone to find her, to ruin her. And he had succeeded. 

The woman who slunk around the corners of the mansion like a wraith bore little resemblance to the woman he had known in Paris with her carefree disposition and sunny smile. And then today, oh today, when Countess Cooper had flung accusations at Rose like so much rice, she had merely stood there, white-faced and stunned. For a moment he had almost believed her to be innocent, the shocked expression on her face rang true, and then he remembered she had once been hailed as the greatest actress in all of France and he had hardened his heart and turned away. Even when she pleaded with him to come to her aid, he had pretended indifference, spewing words deliberately designed to wound, and they had hit their mark. Her face had crumpled and she had run from him, tears already streaming down her face. It had taken all of his self-control to stay where he was, to light a cigar and feign indifference, striking up a conversation with the nearest person he could find.

As he sat there in the dark, the flames reflecting in his eyes, he thought dismally of the years to come, to a lifetime of living so close and yet so far from the woman he loved. He was unsure if he could do it, perhaps after the boy was saved, after this sickening war in France was a thing of the past, perhaps things could change, perhaps he could be done with it all. Until then, he had a mission, a cause, and a reason to live. He just desperately wished they could include Rose.


	12. Chapter 12

Two weeks had passed since the party at the Harkness manor, and Rose was no closer to understanding her husband's behavior than she had been before. If anything he seemed more closed off, often sequestered in his study or making late night runs to London in the middle of the night. The idea of a mistress was making more and more sense with each passing day, but she was beginning to suspect that he had a lady in London as well as Paris.

Currently, she was sipping tea with Michel and John in the garden. Michel had just announced that he had been summoned back to Paris.

"I fear for you in Paris. It is too dangerous there. Oh John, do persuade him to give up his post and stay here. He could send for Marthe. They could get married and live here in England close to us." Rose looked pleadingly at her husband.

"What a dreadful idea!" John pushed himself abruptly to his feet. "Whatever has the poor soul done to deserve to be condemned to matrimony? No, I shall not persuade him to do anything of the sort. Mickey, my boy, stay free and unattached; it is much better that way."

For a moment, Rose could only stare at John in horror, but his back was to her, and he was intent on studying the leaves on his apple trees. She was aware that Michel's gaze was trained on her, but she could not stand for his pity, not now. Without a word, she pushed her chair back and made for the house, tears already forming. She was so utterly tired of crying, tired of making excuses for his behavior and his hurtful words. She was not at all sure how much longer she could continue to play her role in this sick drama.

 

~~~

 

The next afternoon, Rose was resting in her salon when her maid came to the door, announcing that Henri Koschei was awaiting her presence. Rose sat up in a panic. What could Henri want now after all this time? Surely he had not come to taunt her - hopefully the scandal of her farce of a marriage had not traveled clear back to Paris. With no little trepidation, Rose made her way through the house. She found Henri in the drawing room, studying a large portrait of her that John had commissioned. It was one of the few times in the early weeks of their marriage that she had seen a hint of his old passion shining through, his eyes had been soft when he had seen the finished painting, but he had quickly closed down his emotions, turning away with a muttered "looks good."

"Well, this is indeed a surprise." Rose stopped in the doorway to survey Henri.

"Not too unpleasant, I should hope." Henri did not look up from his perusal of the painting.

"I have not seen you in over a month. What brings you clear out here?" Rose chose not to answer his question.

"It's a good likeness, especially the eyes." Henri turned towards her at last. "But it's missing something, I should think. Your painter caught the fire in your eyes, but wholly ignored the sadness."

"Sadness?" Rose tilted her head to one side, hoping he would recognize it for the warning it was.

"Apparently this artist did not perceive what London, and probably all of England, has already surmised," Henri continued, taking his time strolling over to her.

"And what is that?" Rose kept her tone deliberately frosty.

"That the lady is unhappy in her marriage." There was a definite smirk behind Henri's eyes even as he circled around her.

"A man in your position and standing should not listen to the gossips. I would have thought you above all that." Rose shrugged her shoulders carelessly and crossed the room to the windows, ostensibly to enjoy the warmth of the sunlight.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that the fop you married is man enough to make you happy." Henri was by her side faster than she thought possible and she repressed a shudder.

"Have you come all this way merely to ask insolent questions?" Rose asked, her tone cold.

"If the truth is insolent." Henri stepped closer still, until he was directly behind her, his breath hitting her cheek and his tone dropping several decibels. "You are a woman of passion and you deserve a man who can satisfy your every desire."

"Are you suggesting that you are such a man?" Rose raised an eyebrow at him, staying her ground despite every instinct screaming at her to flee.

"I was good enough for you once," Henri nearly whispered into her ear.

It was enough, and Rose stepped sideways, moving towards the sideboard. "Never quite good enough, though. Now, kindly tell me what you are doing here. Or does your business include seducing the wife of Sir John Noble?"

"I came here to enlist your aid," Henri said, his voice returning to normal, "to help me to determine the true identity of the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Rose turned towards Henri in surprise. "Where on earth do you suppose I would learn about such a thing?"

Henri let out an unamused chuckle. "You are at the heart of the social circle, my dear. Don't even pretend that you are not. You are privy to every gossip, see every indiscretion, hear the latest rumors. This should be easy for you."

"Are you asking me to spy for you?" Rose raised her voice in surprise, hardly able to believe her ears.

"Not for me. For France. It is still the nation of your birth, is it not? Are you not still loyal to the Republic?" Henri demanded.

"Your proposition is abhorrent to me. Whoever the Doctor may be he is kind, compassionate, and noble." Rose shook her head.

"Is this a refusal?" Henri's tone was deceptively calm and Rose was instantly on guard.

"Did you really believe that I would do this for you? After you maliciously implicated me in the deaths of the Marquis de Jones and his family? Yes, I found out about that. I would rather go to your precious guillotine than turn in such a brave man." Rose curled her lip in disgust.

Henri clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the window. For a moment he stood in silence, and when he spoke it was low and she had to strain to hear him. "Would you rather your brother go in your place?"

"Michel?" Rose stared at Henri in horror. "What are you even talking about?"

"He is in league with the Doctor." Henri turned and looked straight at her.

"That's ridiculous," Rose said, jaw dropping slightly.

Henri held up a letter, his hand shaking as he spoke. "I intercepted this just yesterday. It's irrefutable proof of his collaboration in the matters of the Doctor. I will use it unless you do your duty and cooperate."

"This is blackmail!" Rose exclaimed.

"Call it whatever you want. I will have the Doctor's head or I will have your brother's. Weigh your options carefully. I expect your answer this evening at Lord William's ball." Henri scooped up his hat and coat from a chair. "In the meantime, I advise you to keep your mouth shut and do not involve that idiot you call a husband." He exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Rose stayed frozen in the middle of the room for a long moment, mind whirling as she struggled to process Henri's threats. His deliberate indictment of her in the de Jones death was one thing, this was something completely separate. She had much admired the Doctor from afar for months now, and with each word that reached her ears about a new daring rescue he had achieved, she found she loved him a little also. However, Michel was her brother and she could not send him to his death because she wanted to protect a faceless stranger.

 

~~~

 

That evening found Rose sitting at her vanity, lost in thought. She had a barely formulated plan of how to trap the Doctor, but was not sure if she was actually brave enough to go through with it. The only thing that she could focus on was the repetitive refrain of "you must save Michel" running through her mind.

She was suddenly aware that John was standing behind her, his expression pensive as he studied her through the mirror. When he saw her looking at him, he spoke, "I'm sorry if I startled you."

Rose put on her most winning smile. "I must have been daydreaming."

He rested his hand on her shoulder, one thumb absently stroking her exposed skin, and she reached up to cover it with her own. "You look beautiful tonight." It was the first real compliment he had given her in months.

"It's been awhile since you've noticed me at all," Rose said, daring to keep her eyes fixed on his.

"By Rassilon, Madame, a man would have to be half blind not to notice you and I am far from that. In that gown you'll be the talk of the ball." He paused for a moment, his thumb continuing its repetitive motion and then asked, "But tell me, what were you thinking of just then?"

"John," Rose bit her bottom lip, "You've known Sir Jack for a long time, haven't you?"

"Of course, we've been mates since our days in the schoolyard. Why do you ask?" He raised an inquisitive brow.

"Well, I was just wondering if he might not be the Doctor."

His thumb abruptly stopped its movement and his eyes went wide for a moment, before he laughed carelessly. "Jack? The Doctor? Most doubtful. He's more likely to be a Captain, and not a very good one at that. Man hasn't got the talent for much more than being a scallywag. But why the sudden interest in the Doctor?"

"Oh, I have no more interest in him than any other woman in London. He just seems very daring and brave is all." She allowed a brief flutter of her eyelashes.

John withdrew his hand from her shoulder, but did not move from behind her. "I would bet your friend Koschei would be very interested to know this Doctor's identity. I rather suspect that's the reason he came to England in the first place. I'm surprised he hasn't told you as much, I thought the two of you to be rather close."

"Why I haven't laid eyes on him since he arrived in this country. And he isn't likely to share his confidences with me." Rose watched her husband's expression closely.

"Well, if anyone is going to catch the Doctor it shall not Koschei," John said decidedly.

"And why is that?" She cocked her head to the side.

"Why? Because the man can't tie his own cravat!" John sniffed disdainfully and made a show of adjusting his own.

"Really John?" Rose forgot the Doctor for a moment. "Is that all you can think about? Fashion and...and cravats? Why can't you be the sort of man a woman can rely on, turn to in trouble?"

"Trouble, Rose?" John let his hand fall from his throat. "Are you in trouble?"

"And what if I were?" She couldn't keep the note of bitterness out of her tone.

"Well, you might try confiding in me. You did before." It almost sounded like there was a hint of wistfulness in John's voice, but Rose attributed it to her own wishful thinking.

"What's the use? It's almost as if we don't even speak the same language anymore."

Before John could respond, the bell for the front door rang and John excused himself with a bow. Rose waited only a moment before following him, coming halfway down the stairs and peering over the banister in time to see Wilf, the butler, hand John a pouch.

"The courier?" John's voice floated up to her and it was a different tone than she had ever heard him use.

"Murdered, I'm afraid, sir."

"Come with me, Wilf." John strode off through the house, the Butler close on his heels.

Rose returned to her room with her mind more in a panic than before. She only had a few short hours before she had to give her answer to Koschei and she had no idea what to say to him.


	13. Chapter 13

As Rose and John descended from their carriage, Rose wondered if she might not become physically ill before the evening was over. The idea of turning over a man such as the Doctor -- who had already risked so much for so many -- was nauseating, but she could not even bring herself to think of a life where her brother was sent to the guillotine by her own hand. She hardly paid attention as she and John were announced, though her smile was in place and she made certain to make eye contact with people as they passed.

Rose spotted Henri immediately. He was leaning against a pillar, and when his eyes met hers his lips curled with faint amusement and she hastily averted her gaze, feeling the immediate desire for a bath. She and John swiftly went their separate ways and he was soon surrounded by a group of giggling ladies, something Rose did her best to ignore, desperately engaging in a discussion with Sir Owen Harper, a man she knew to have a reputation of keeping a mistress in every town, though how he accomplished this she could not understand, his conversational skills were deplorable.

She was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder and looked up gratefully only to find Henri standing there, one hand outstretched. "Lady Noble, will you do me the honor?"

With a sinking feeling that she was sealing her doom, Rose accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the middle of the dance floor. The minuet was a slow piece, and the swirl of skirts and the clatter of boots were ordinarily something that Rose enjoyed, but now she wished she could be anywhere else on earth. As Henri twirled her out and then spun her back in, his eyes never left hers and Rose forced herself to meet them, refusing to allow him to see how much this was affecting her.

"So, have you made your decision then?" he asked at length, his voice a carrying whisper.

Rose had to swallow past a suddenly dry throat. "You have left me little choice. What would you have me do?"

A satisfied smirk crossed Henri's face. "Your husband's friend, Sir Jack Harkness, has a note tucked in his sleeve. Find out what it says."

Rose said nothing for a time, moving through the steps of the dance without thinking. With only a few bars of music left, she finally spoke. "How?"

Henri chuckled. "I leave that to your talent as a consummate actress."

The music ended and they acknowledged each other. Rose turned as soon as she could and moved in the opposite direction, her heart feeling as if it was about to escape her chest. As she gained the edge of the room, she was aware of eyes on her, and turning she found John standing at the opposite doorway, gaze fixed firmly upon her. She froze, unable to move underneath the weight of his scrutiny. There was something in his eyes that she had not seen in some time and she was almost ready to cross the room to him when he turned and abruptly disappeared from view. 

Her shoulders drooped as she stared after him, feeling the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyes. All of a sudden she was angry, furiously angry. She was beyond tired of this and she was done playing the submissive role. Even if her husband never spoke to her with warmth or looked at her with love, she could at least save her brother. She straightened her spine and briskly made her way across the room to where Jack stood, laughing merrily with a group of people.

Rose placed her hand on Jack's arm, smiling coyly up at him. "Come on, Jack, you mustn't miss an opportunity to make John jealous now."

The look he gave her was slightly bewildered, but he took her hand good-naturedly and led her to the floor where the Allemande was already in full swing. Despite John's apparent life-long friendship with Jack, Rose had never really had much cause to speak with him. John rarely invited him to the house and when John had introduced Rose to Jack, it had been gruff and John had abruptly pulled Jack off to play cards. However, Jack's reputation as something of a socialite preceded him and Rose knew that getting the paper off of him was likely to be easier than it could have been with, say, Rhys. 

Rose waited until they were about halfway through the dance before exclaiming and pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. Jack halted their progress with concern, immediately asking after her welfare and guiding her from the room. Rose was keenly aware of Henri's gaze on them as they exited the room.

She sank down into a chair with a sigh of relief, "I'm alright. I think it's just the heat. Thank you, Jack, I don't know what's come over me."

"Perhaps I ought to get John?" Jack made a move to leave the room and Rose caught his sleeve.

"No, don't leave me." She pressed a hand to her heaving bosom for effect. "I only need to close my eyes for a moment or two."

Rose tilted her head back and closed her eyes, aware of Jack turning and taking a few steps away. She cracked open her eyes and watched him fish a note from his sleeve and glance over his shoulder before unrolling it. After a moment, he refolded the paper and crossed to a table, holding the paper to a candle flame. She hurried over to him, snatching it out of his hand and blowing it out, waving it underneath her nose. She was aware of Jack's shocked and worried expression and knew this had to be her best performance yet.

"Aren't you just a genius!" she sighed happily, inhaling the smoke. "Almost as good as smelling salts for dizzy spells. There, I feel better already. Thank you." She reached to hand him back the paper and allowed her arm to hit the edge of a bowl of fruit, spilling its contents everywhere. "Oh dear, I am so sorry."

"Allow me." Jack knelt and began gathering the fruit back into the bowl.

Rose hastily unfolded the note and read: "Leaving tonight for France. Meet me at midnight in the library for your instructions." There was no signature, only a circular design that Rose could not decipher. 

As Jack rose to his feet, she refolded the note, and setting the end to the flame, let it crinkle before dropping it onto a nearby plate; together they watched it burn.

"One moment more and I might have known the lady’s name," Rose teased, aware of the heavy silence.

"Lady?" Jack asked.

Rose turned towards him and winked. "Or gentleman? Don't worry, Jack, I'll keep your secrets, however risqué they may be." 

He laughed boisterously, his earlier unease seemingly gone, "Oh, Lady Rose, risqué is in this year, haven't you heard?"

"I'll keep that in mind." She raised her eyebrows and left the room, hating herself more than she could say.

Rose made her way back into the crowded ballroom, smile in place, and eyes scanning for Henri. She stopped to hug Gwen and say a few words to Rhys, wishing them every bit of happiness denied to her and John. At length she spotted Henri in a doorway, eyes lazily flickering over her as she approached. She forced herself to lean casually against the door post.

"There was not much left by the time I was able to get to it," she said in an undertone.

"But were you able to make anything out?" Henri asked urgently.

"It said to leave for France tonight and to meet in the Library at midnight." Rose ignored the queasy roiling of her stomach.

"And the signature? How was it signed?" he demanded.

"It was not signed," she responded, biting her lip. "There was just a circular scrawl. I could not make it out."

"It's an ancient language, there are few that can." Henri practically rubbed his hands together with glee. "But it is his signature, the Doctor's, and he will be in the Library at midnight."

Rose averted her gaze, unwilling to watch this man gloat over his victory. She felt, rather than heard him approach her, his body pressing against her from behind, his hand creeping around her neck, and his lips grazing her ear as he whispered. "You've done well, my dear, very well indeed. It's remarkable how well we complement each other. But then, we always did."

She could stand no more and twisted herself from his grasp, watching in satisfaction as his lips closed on thin air. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but before she could, Countess Cooper swept up in all her glory and caught Henri's arm. 

"So, this is where you've been hiding, you naughty boy. You promised me the jig. Come along." With hardly a glance at Rose, the Countess propelled Henri towards the dance floor.

Rose turned and left the room, walking swiftly through the house until she found an unoccupied room. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it heavily, hardly believing everything she had dared to do in the course of the evening. Mentally replaying her actions, she cringed, stomach heaving with the force of her lies. The thought that she had done it all to save Michel was starting to fall a little flat as it occurred to her that Michel may not be terribly pleased if he discovered what she had done. He had a strong sense of justice and her lying to a good man and turning over another one to the authorities would probably not set well with him. The weight of what she had done was suddenly too much to bear and she dropped into a nearby chair with a cry of dismay, burying her face in her hands. She was hit with a sudden and nearly overwhelming urge to find John, to spill her secrets to him and allow him to carry the burden for once. A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her throat as she imagined his reaction to that sort of display. 

The clocked chimed once and Rose looked at up at, startled from her thoughts. It read 11:45 and Rose suddenly knew what she had to do. With a steadying breath, she stood up and left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

Rose entered the Library with a light tread, eyes alert for the slightest movement, determined to do the right thing for once. A survey of the room showed it to be empty, and if anyone had been there they were long gone. She crossed to the open window, arms crossed against the night breeze, hoping against hope that, whoever the Doctor may be, he was long gone from this place. Perhaps the note had been a decoy, something to throw Henri off the scent. It was obvious that he would have no other reason to be in England except to track down the Doctor; he wasn't overly fond of being too long out of Paris. Maybe something in her actions had alerted the Doctor's companions that something was amiss and they in turn had told the Doctor, making sure he was far from this place.

Rose took a deep breath, allowing the scent of the lilac and rose bushes under the windows to fill her nose and calm her soul. She had to believe that somehow the Doctor had been warned and had plenty of time to escape. Briefly she thought about leaving a note in case he was yet to appear, but then thought better of it. After all, Henri would be coming in here to try to capture the Doctor. No need to give him more fodder to further malign her name; he had done enough damage to her marriage as it was. 

Rose bit her lip as she considered that if she had been honest with John from the first moment that Henri had confronted her with that tiny scrap of paper, perhaps none of this would have happened, perhaps he would not hate her and they could be here warning the Doctor together, or maybe he would have taken her far away from scandal and blackmail and war. 

Rose sighed deeply and was just about to turn to leave the room when she heard a floorboard creak. She froze in place, her heart thudding wildly. In a barely audible whisper, she managed, "Who's there?"

"Do not turn around. No matter what, you must not turn around." The voice that answered her was gruff with a slight Northern accent and not one that Rose recognized.

"Doctor," Rose breathed.

She heard the curtains rustle slightly before the voice spoke again. "How did you know I would be here?"

"I tricked Sir Jack and read your note." Whoever he may be might hate her for what she'd done, but he deserved the truth.

"Why did you come then?" The voice was nearer.

"To warn you." Rose forced herself to remain facing the open window. "Henri knows you are going to be here."

"You told him." It wasn't a question.

"I had to, to save my brother," Rose pleaded, "He threatened to have Michel arrested if I did not help him discover who you are."

"Why are you telling me this?" The man was closer now, so close she could almost feel his breath on her neck.

"I could never live with myself if I was responsible for your death," she said, begging him to understand her.

"What is another life to you?" He sounded at once angry and sad. "You already have the Marquis de Jones on your record."

"It isn't true! Henri tricked me," Rose cried, forgetting for a moment about secrecy, so eager was she to tell her burden to someone. "I turned him down for another and so he signed my name as an informant to that warrant out of spite. I could no more have sent the Marquis and his family to their deaths than I can allow you to die because of my actions."

A finger swept along the back of her neck and it sent a shiver down her spine, but it was of want and fire, not fear. "If all that is true, you are extraordinarily brave to come here to warn me."

"I'm very foolish, I think. If Henri finds out then Michel is as good as dead." She took a deep breath, another wave of lilac overwhelming her senses.

"No harm shall come to your brother as long as I live." The sincerity in his voice shook her, but Rose was not convinced.

"How can I believe that?"

"I give you my word." His breath ghosted across her skin.

"I don't even know who you are! Can't you tell me?" Rose whispered.

"A ghost, my lady. A phantom. Nothing more than that. And you must forget me."

"No, you are so much more than that to me. You're very real to me, more real than anyone else right now, I think. I could never forget you. Not now, not after all of this." She raised her hand backwards over her shoulder tentatively. "You're so close. Will you touch my hand? So that I can know that you are real?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand swept along the side of her neck, bare whispers against her pulse, settling with his fingers against the low collar of her dress, wrist in her hand. 

"There." His accent was pronounced as he breathed into her ear. "Feel my pulse and know that I am real."

She closed her hand around his wrist, fingers searching the ridges of his bones, measuring the width of him, the delicacy of his skin. Her index finger slipped under his cuff, absently feeling the ridge of a scar when the clock struck loudly causing them both to jump, and his hand slipped from hers. 

"Henri!" Rose cried.

"He must not find you here!" His voice was urgent and his footsteps were taking him farther away from her. "Quickly, through the window!"

Rose stepped onto the ledge and then turned back in alarm. "What if he..." But the room was empty. With a quickened heart, she stepped into the garden.

She hurriedly walked around the house and ducked in through a side door, unnoticed in a large and happy group of people. Working to calm her breathing, she made her way through the crowd, searching for any glimpse of Henri. She spotted him at last near the front door, his hat and coat in hand.

"Henri, you're leaving?" she greeted him. "Does that mean that you are pleased?"

"I could not be more delighted." His words were tight and fear coursed through Rose. Perhaps the Doctor had not had adequate time to hide. "I sail for France tomorrow where I shall finish the Doctor once and for all." 

Rose could not keep herself from pressing to know more. "Then you found out what you wanted to know?"

"Oh, absolutely everything." He sounded positively gleeful.

For a moment, Rose stayed frozen in place, but she could not let him leave without confirming her suspicions. "Henri! What about our bargain?"

"Oh, I don't care about your brother at all. You can have him again alive and well, but only when I have caught the Doctor. Here or in France, it doesn't matter to me." He gave her a measured look before holding out something silvery. "By the way, I found this in the Library. It was very careless of you to drop it." 

With a sinking feeling, Rose recognized the object as her own earring, her hand flying to her ear to confirm that yes, she was only wearing one. 

Henri reached out and caught her hand, thrusting the earring into it and closing her fingers around it. "Think twice before you interfere again." With a curl of his lip, Henri turned on his heel and left the house, leaving Rose standing in stunned silence on the step.


	15. Chapter 15

Caan Davros was certain that of all the jobs in France, jailer to the son of the former king of France was probably the most demeaning. It was basically glorified babysitting and there was a reason he and his wife Cassandra had no offspring of their own. Louis was an insolent boy with more than a trace of defiance flowing in his veins and Caan would have despised him even without knowing his heritage. The only thing that made the appointment worthwhile was that Citizen Maximilien Robespierre, head of the Committee for National Security, wanted the boy broken and he did not much care how they went about it. The job might have come with little prestige or recognition, but it did appeal to Caan's darker side. Beatings, withholding food, very little care for physical needs, and making the brat repeat vicious accusations against his parents was not only expected, but required, and Caan relished every moment.

On this particular day Caan and Cassandra were just headed down to Louis' cell, determined to put him through his paces, when they were arrested by voices coming from the direction they were headed. They crept forward, peering around the corner, and saw two men standing in the middle of the dank corridor. Caan recognized one of them as Michel Tyler, Henri Koschei's second-in-command, and the other as Captain John-Paul Lumic, the head of Koschei's security detail.

Citizen Tyler was speaking. "Madame Davros coddles the brat. Shoes for his royal feet, indeed! Next thing she'll be wanting a pillow to cushion his head!"

Caan gave his wife a shocked look, but Cassandra looked just as confused as he.

"What more can you expect of a woman? Her heart's as soft as her head, though I can assure you she is as trustworthy as her husband," Captain Lumic replied.

Caan mentally patted himself on the back, at least the last months had not been a complete waste of time.

"Trustworthy?" Citizen Tyler scoffed. "I'm not so sure about that. I hear the man's in debt up to his ears and that makes him an easy target for bribery."

"Bribery?" 

Citizen Tyler waved his hand carelessly, "Those who would wish to rescue the brat would pay very well. I've heard rumors circulating about a group who is looking to do that very thing."

"I did not know. Davros and his wife will be replaced as soon as other arrangements can be made," Captain Lumic said grimly.

Caan stood in surprised silence as the two men's voices faded away. Surely they would not execute a man for enjoying himself with a few games at the local pub, though he was not eager to discover otherwise. He motioned to his wife and the two slipped back to their quarters to plan.

 

~~~

 

In another part of Paris, later that same day, a small company of soldiers led by the esteemed Captain John-Paul Lumic rode up to a small house on the outskirts of the city. Jean-Paul dismounted and pounded on the front door.

"Open in the name of the Republic!" he shouted, not caring that it was a good deal past dark and he was likely disturbing the entire street.

It took several moments for the front door to be opened by a middle aged woman wrapped in a house coat and looking distinctly ill-pleased. 

"The very idea of disturbing innocent citizens with all that noise," she groused at them. "I'm Lady Adeola de Jones."

"Where is Mademoiselle de Jones?" the Captain demanded.

"Where else is she going to be at this hour? Asleep in her bed!" Lady Adeola scoffed.

"I must speak with her at once." 

Lady Adeola led the soldiers up the stairs, grumbling under her breath about the late hour and rude soldiers, which Antoine ignored. When they arrived at the Mademoiselle's door, Lady Adeola knocked and Marthe soon appeared in the doorway.

"Why it's Jean-Paul Lumic!" she exclaimed, stepping out of her room with a smile.

"Forgive me, my dear. He insisted," Lady Adeola sniffed.

"No worries, cousin, Monsieur Jean-Paul and I are old friends." Turning back to Jean-Paul, she raised an eyebrow. "It is a bit early for a social call though."

"This is not a social call, Mademoiselle," Jean-Paul responded. "I am here to arrest the man in your boudoir."

"Oh, there must be some mistake. Arrest Citizen Smith-Tyler?" Marthe raised a hand to her mouth in shock.

"There is no mistake. I have the warrant right here, signed this afternoon by Citizen Koschei himself when he returned from London," Jean-Paul said, shaking the paper in his hand for emphasis.

"He means to arrest his superior? A man as important as Citizen Robespierre himself?" Marthe sounded shocked.

"His superior?" Jean-Paul looked confused.

"Yes, you did say you were here to arrest Richard Smith, correct?" Marthe asked, reaching a hand down to open her bedroom door.

"Richard Smith? I am here to arrest Michel Smith-Tyler. See the warrant!" Jean-Paul thrust the paper towards Marthe.

"Well, why did you not say so?" Marthe said with a laugh. "That explains everything. The man asleep in my boudoir is not Michel. It is Richard Smith, his cousin." 

"Do you mean to say that at this very moment, in that room right there, lies the most powerful man in France?" Jean-Paul demanded in a whisper.

"Yes, if all this noise has not woken him," Marthe agreed. "Did you want me to get him?"

"Oh no, no, no, no," Jean-Paul shook his head quickly, backing towards the staircase. "Why disturb the good man if he is asleep. I'll just leave quietly. No need to even mention this, such a busy man, such important things to think about. Just forget I was even here, just a silly mistake, that is all." He gained the top of the stairs and quickly descended, rounding up the soldiers and hastily leaving the house, embarrassment over his mistake hanging over him.

 

~~~

 

Forty-five minutes later, Captain Jean-Paul Lumic was feeling embarrassment for an entirely different reason as he listened to Koschei rage at him.

"Are you every bit as stupid as you look? Richard Smith is as celibate as a monk. I doubt he's slept with his own wife in fifteen years!" Koschei swept his arm over his desk, knocking a stack of papers to the floor. "You were taken for the fool you so obviously are."

"I'll return and arrest him at once," Jean-Paul said nervously.

Koschei let out a derisive snort. "He's long gone by now, fool!"

"Don't you think..." Jean-Paul began.

"I shall handle this in my own way!" Koschei growled, standing up and kicking his chair back.

"But it would..."

"Lumic!" Koschei shouted.

"I really think that..."

"Out! Get out!" Koschei stormed around his desk and advanced towards him.

Jean-Paul hastily bowed and fled the room, making sure the door closed firmly behind him. Koschei immediately went to the closet, opening it to expose a man with a slightly greasy beard and a long knife at his side.

"Return to the de Jones residence. Inform me the moment that Michel Smith-Tyler shows his face." The man nodded and headed towards the exit. 

"Michel Smith-Tyler!" Koschei shouted after him desperately.

 

~~~

 

A group of men stood around a long table on which sat a copy of the schematics for the Temple Prison. Rhys Williams was there, one hand leaning on the table and his gaze fixed on the leader. Michel was there, pacing the table nervously. Luke Smith was there, still young in age, but with months of experience by now.

John was there, tapping his quill on the map and speaking in an urgent tone. "Davros and his wife will be replaced tomorrow, so at last we can make our move. For that, I have to thank Michel." He inclined his head towards Michel who appeared not to notice. 

"Listen carefully," he continued, flipping the paper over so that it showed a map of France. "The Dauphin will be brought by myself to this point on the outskirts of Paris. Michel you will be waiting there precisely at midday, the timing is crucial, you cannot be even one moment late. One mistake and we could have the entirety of the French army upon us. 

"From that point he will be taken to this transfer point where Rhys, you will be waiting with horses. Rhys will take him to this castle while Michel rides on to Calais. Jack will be bringing the yacht around to this rendezvous where he will wait until it is safe to bring the boy on board. At the first available tide, you will sail for England. And Michel, that is where you must stay. It is no longer safe for you in the city."

Michel snorted. "Is it safe for any of us? Is everyone going to stay there?"

John gave him a hard look. "You took an oath of loyalty when you joined us. This is the point at which you prove you meant it."

"I gave my word to Marthe." Michel crossed his arms and looked away.

"It is your word to this league that concerns me at the moment." John strode over until he stood directly in front of Michel.

Michel dropped his arms and looked at John pleadingly. "Let me go back and bring Marthe to safety in England."

"That's completely out of the question. I will not allow you to risk your life," John said shortly.

"How can you be so cold? You don't even know the meaning of love," Michel growled, crossing to the other side of the room.

"You must learn to trust me, Mickey," John said, starting to walk after him. "Don't trouble yourself with thoughts of Marthe. I will personally see that she is safe."

"Are you going to take her to England?" Michel demanded.

"I give you my word," John said softly. "Now, all of you, we must get some rest."

The group started to disband, moving towards the exit, all except for John, who returned to the map. 

As Michel reached the door, John suddenly spoke. "Michel."

Michel paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"You are wrong about my not knowing the meaning of love. Very wrong indeed."

"We'll see." Michel shrugged and left the room, leaving John where he was, with a thoughtful look on his face.

 

~~~

 

It was very early the next morning and the light of dawn was barely reaching the room where the league slept wrapped in blankets at various intervals across the floor. Michel shifted in his spot, rolling over, and then sitting upright. With a glance to the corner where John lay, Michel stood up, hastily pulling on his outer clothes. There was no movement from any of the other occupants of the room and Michel breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the door. He sent one more glance towards John and then lifted the latch and disappeared into the night.

Inside the room, Rhys made to get up and John lifted his head and shook it.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" Luke asked sleepily.

"No, let the boy make his own mistakes," John said, turning his face to the wall.

Luke and Rhys exchanged glances and then lay back down.


	16. Chapter 16

"McCrimmon! McCrimmon, take care of that chair! It belonged to my grandmother!" Cassandra Davros shouted at the hunch-backed man carrying her furniture through the stone corridors.

"That's Citizen McCrimmon to you, if you please," the man slurred with a wave of one dirty hand.

Caan Davros appeared in the doorway. "This way then, come along." He led the way outside to the courtyard where a covered wagon and a cart piled high with furniture were parked. "They're welcome to the brat. Let's see how long the next one lasts, eh? Come on, I'm ready to leave this place behind."

His wife let out an indignant squawk. "What about the rest of the furniture?"

"The lackey will manage well enough." He gave McCrimmon a hard look. "You have the gate pass and the address?"

"Yes, yes, I can manage," McCrimmon grunted.

"Make sure this all gets there before dark!" Cassandra exclaimed from her spot at the back of the wagon. "And mind, I know exactly what I've got."

McCrimmon waved a hand impatiently and Monsieur Davros clucked to his horse, the wagon quickly leaving the prison behind. McCrimmon shook his head wearily and meandered back inside the prison. 

For a time, the horse and cart piled high with the Davros' furniture stood patiently in the courtyard until Captain Jean-Paul Lumic appeared, leading a couple towards the jailer's quarters.

"As soon as the lackey has the place cleared out, Citizen de Sneyd, you and your wife can move your belongings in," the Captain said, starting up the stairs. 

Their progress was halted by McCrimmon, lugging a basket. "Well, out of the way then," he huffed. "This is Madame Davros' precious china this is. Entrusted to me by herself. Imported from China it is. Out of the way." 

The Captain and the de Sneyds stepped to the side, allowing McCrimmon to proceed to the courtyard. He lumbered his way to the cart and strapped the basket to the back. With several glances around the empty yard, he hauled himself onto the seat and lifted the reins. 

"Get up then," he clucked to the horses and the cart rolled slowly from the courtyard.

The de Sneyd's followed Captain Lumic inside where he showed them their quarters before leading them farther along the corridor to a heavy door. "And in here you'll find the brat." He raised the flap over the window. "I warn you, he's quite the handful. Gave the Davros' a bad time of it."

One at a time, Monsieur de Sneyd and his wife peeked in at the boy, who was curled up on a pile of straw facing the wall. "You leave him to us, Captain," de Sneyd said gruffly. "We'll sort him out."

 

~~~

 

McCrimmon and his cart rolled to a stop by the city's east gate and McCrimmon lazily watched the guards walk towards him.

"Papers!" the Sergeant in charge demanded.

"Here you go then," McCrimmon handed over the crumpled paper.

The Sergeant read them and then looked up in shock. "These are signed by Captain Lumic!"

"They are," McCrimmon agreed.

"Captain Lumic, Koschei's own guard!" the Sergeant exclaimed.

"That's the one, Sergeant, that's the one." McCrimmon knocked his pipe against the edge of the cart.

The Sergeant jumped into action. "Open the gate, let him through." He handed the papers back hastily and went to assist with the raising of the gates. 

McCrimmon tipped his hat as he guided his cart through the gate.

 

~~~

 

For the second time in two days, Captain John-Paul Lumic was receiving a tongue lashing from Henri Koschei. The two men were striding through the corridors of the Temple Prison and Koschei was nothing short of livid.

"You had specific instructions to inform me the moment, the very moment there was any change to the schedule whatsoever! Particularly in concern to his jailers!"

"My word, Citizen. The boy was sleeping like a baby last time I checked on him," Lumic insisted, stopping before the door to Louis' cell and raising the flap, "just as he is now. Look at him yourself."

Koschei shoved Lumic out of the way and peered in. After a moment, he stepped back seemingly satisfied. "What prompted this change in jailers?"

"Well, after I received the warning about the Davros', of course," Lumic nodded emphatically.

"I gave no such...Michel! Open the door!" Koschei shouted.

Lumic stumbled back a step, hand going for his keys. "But..."

"Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said open it!" Koschei's face was turning a shocking shade of puce.

Lumic hastily pulled out the correct key, jamming it in the lock and swinging open the heavy door. Koschei brushed past him and stormed to the corner where the boy was. Ripping back the blanket, he revealed a stuffed doll with a wig. A paper was attached to the doll's collar with a circular scrawl on it. With an enraged shout, Koschei threw the doll against the wall and then punched Lumic in the face.

 

~~~

 

In a small grove of trees, McCrimmon sat hunched in his cart with a worried expression on his face. Pulling out his timepiece, he checked it for the fifth time in as many minutes. It read 12:20 and he snapped it shut impatiently. With a sigh, he dismounted the cart and shuffled around to the back, unstrapping the basket from its place and opening the lid.

Inside, a small boy with curly hair sat up, staring at McCrimmon fearfully.

McCrimmon beckoned with his finger and the boy leaned closer. "Would you like to see a magic trick?" McCrimmon asked. The boy gave a small nod, eyes wide. 

Lifting the boy down, McCrimmon nodded to him, "Watch this then."

McCrimmon waved his fingers in the air, blew on them, and then reached into his mouth and began pulling out a handkerchief. The boy's jaw dropped as the cloth seemed to go on and on. When he removed one handkerchief, the man raised one finger, and then pulled out another from the other cheek. The look on the lad's face was one of complete awe. 

"Let that be a lesson to you," the man said in quite a different voice, "Never judge a man by his appearance."

The boy shook his head, eyes full of admiration.

"I'm John," the man said. "And you must be Louis."

The boy held out his hand solemnly and John took it with an equally straight face. 

John pulled out his time piece. It now read 12:35. Turning to the boy, he asked, "Think you can keep quiet?" At the boy's nod, he smiled gently. "Sit here then." The two sat together on the driver's seat for a few moments, John keeping an eye on their surroundings and telling Louis about the trees that surrounded them.

There was a muffled shout from the distance and John glanced in that direction, catching a glimpse of a group of soldiers. "Get down here, if you please Louis," he said, helping the boy into the back of the wagon where he crouched amongst the furniture. "Keep your head down. Looks like we're in for a run."

John grabbed the reins, guiding the horses out of the meadow and onto the dirt road. The soldiers rounded the bend behind them, beginning to fire their weapons. One shot hit the basket and it toppled to the ground, smashing into pieces. 

John urged the horses into a gallop, casting frequent glances over his shoulder. The heavy furniture in the cart made progress very slow and the soldiers were gaining on them quickly. As they drew closer, they continued shooting at the cart recklessly. One shot grazed John's arm and he jerked the cart to the right. A wheel caught on a boulder, and the cart careened wildly across the meadow and smashed against a tree, the Davros' furniture in ruins. By the time the soldiers reached the meadow, they were greeted by an empty cart and the horse lazily chewing on some grass.

"Spread out!" one of the soldiers hollered. "They can't have gotten too far."

From a nearby hollowed tree, John and Louis watched the soldiers disappear into the woods. After a moment they heard a distant shout, "They must have crossed the river. Search the other side."

John motioned Louis to be quiet and lowered him to the ground carefully, following him down to the ground. Together they ran into the woods, making for the opposite direction from the river. They hadn't gone too far when Rhys appeared in front of them, pistol pointing at them.

"If I see one more gun..." John growled, striding forward and grabbing the pistol. 

"John!" Rhys exclaimed.

"I've had my fair share of weapons for one day. You must take the boy to the castle on your own. Find some way to notify Jack that the plans have changed." Rhys nodded wordlessly. "Meanwhile, I've got to return to Paris." John pulled a cloth from his pocket, wrapping it around the bleeding wound on his arm.

"It's too dangerous. You can't possibly..." Rhys began.

"Michel never made the rendezvous," John interrupted. "He has to be in trouble somehow. I can't desert him now."

"Right." Rhys mounted his horse and pulled Louis up behind him.

John swung himself onto the second horse and tipped his hat to Rhys before disappearing into the woods.

 

~~~

 

That evening a boy stood outside of the de Jones' residence, knocking softly on the door. It opened a moment later and Lady Adeola stuck her head out. The boy handed her a note.

"A man told me to give you this." he said.

Lady Adeola read the note and then nodded to the boy. "Tell him it is safe."

The boy grinned and ran across the street, disappearing around the edge of a house where John stood in the shadows.

"She said it's safe," the boy announced and John smiled, handing over a coin.

John surveyed the area carefully before he hurried across the street, nodding at Lady Adeola as he approached.

"Quickly Monsieur, come with me." She led the way inside and John followed, with another glance down the street.

Lady Adeola led the way up the stairs before stepping to the side and nodding towards a close door. "In there," she said. 

As John entered the room, he saw Marthe standing by the window looking out. "Mademoiselle de Jones," he said softly.

Turning around, she spoke with tears in her eyes, "Please forgive him, Sir John."

John crossed the room and taking one of her hands in his own, kissed it. "Don't worry yourself. I understand the strength of love also."

A throat clearing behind them caused them both to jump and John swung around to see Henri Koschei sitting on a chair by the door with a smug expression on his face. "Good evening, John. I knew that your sense of virtue and justice would not allow you to leave one of your own behind." 

Two soldiers entered and stood on either side of John and another came in escorting Michel.

"I'm so sorry, John," Michel said softly, nodding subtly towards the window to the roof.

"Well, if you aren't right at last. It was bound to happen eventually. The odds are against you always being wrong. I suppose fellows like Michel and me are a fair exchange for one royal prince, don't you think? Amazing how one slippery lad can just fall through your fingers, so hard to hold on to." John winked at Koschei carelessly. "I bet there will be hell to pay when the Committee discovers he has left the country. Wouldn't want to be in your shoes then. Frankly, I wouldn't ever want to be in your shoes, they're frightfully ugly."

Koschei ignored the last statement. "Has he left the country then? I heard there was a bit of trouble on that account."

"Nope, no trouble at all," John said breezily. "Easy as anything. In fact, it was done something like this." With one hand he threw his cloak over one of the guards, shouting at Michel, "Now!"

Michel punched one guard in the face and John tripped the other. With a hasty scramble, Michel made for the window to the roof while John rushed to the stairs, vaulting the banisters.

"No," Koschei said to the guards, "Leave Michel. It's him I want."

A few moments later, John was backing up the stairs, escorted by several soldiers whose guns were trained on him.

"That was stupid, Sir John."

"Nonsense, Koschei," John said, inclining his head towards the open window and the vanished Michel. "You said it yourself. It was a sense of virtue and justice."


	17. Chapter 17

Rose rushed up the steps to the Noble mansion, heart pounding. Her mind was whirling with everything that had happened and she wanted, no, she needed to share it with someone. What she wanted was to speak to John, to tell him...well, she didn't know what, but she had a feeling if she saw him the entire story would come spilling out. She had searched the Harkness' home for John after Henri had left, but had been unable to find him and assumed he had returned home.

She hurried in the front door and found Wilf hastily rising from his chair as she entered.

"Where is John? I must, I need to speak to him." Rose panted slightly with exertion.

"He's not here, my lady," Wilf said regretfully.

"Where has he gone?" Maybe it was just to London and he would be back in the morning, she could force herself to wait that long.

"He left a note for you in his study." Wilf gestured in that direction.

Hastily picking up a candelabra, Rose went to the Library. She found a folded note with her name on it lying in the middle of John's desk. Picking it up with shaking fingers, she tore open the seal.

_My dearest Rose,  
It breaks my heart to leave you right now, but I have been suddenly called back to Paris and I must go immediately. I wanted to speak with you tonight, but that must wait for another time. I promise I shall return to you and explain everything at that time. I have left Jack nearby where he shall keep an eye out to make sure you are safe. I trust him with my life. I do not say it as often as I should, but I love you._

_Always yours,  
John_

_P.S. I must beg your forgiveness for what I put you through on our wedding night. It was cruel and unkind and I can never forgive myself. This note is not enough to atone for my sins and I know that, but I hope that when I return I can show you how truly and desperately I regret what I have done to you._

Rose stood frozen, staring at the paper in her hand in shock. She could not believe everything she had read or that John really meant it. Crossing to his armchair, she sank into it in disbelief, staring blankly at the wall and trying to understand his words. Why had he been called to Paris in the middle of the night? The echo of Countess Cooper's cruel words about a mistress rang in her mind, but Rose was beginning to doubt the veracity of the accusation. John suddenly being called back to Paris to meet with a mistress seemed a little far-fetched, particularly when looked at in the context of the rest of the contents of the letter. She would not completely rule the possibility out, but she pushed it away from her for the moment.

His kind words, mentioning love and that leaving her broke his heart, were nearly the most confusing things in the letter. Rose knew that he had once loved her, once hated to leave her for any length of time. But now? Now he seemed to take any opportunity to go, staying away for days at a time with no sign of regret. Why was he suddenly upset about leaving her now? What could she possibly have done this evening to warrant such a dramatic shift in him? She had hardly spoken two words to him at the ball and the one time she had caught his gaze, it was not love and remorse she had seen in his expression. Her heart leaped at the words, desperately hoping that she was winning back her husband's love, but she was too used to ruthlessly squashing her emotions to allow her heart to get the better of her. It was wiser to wait and see what would happen than to allow another piece of her heart to be ripped out.

He had written that he wanted to speak with her, to explain everything. A lot had happened in the last months and she wondered which part in particular he wanted to cover. Before their wedding he had promised to talk to her, to tell her who the man behind the mask was. Perhaps that was what he was referring to, but so much time had passed, it was odd that he would suddenly want to explain everything to her now. She could not work out what was so special about this particular evening that had not existed in all the many quiet evenings she had spent in this house with him physically present but emotionally far away. 

Leaving Jack behind to make sure she was safe was such an odd thing to say that Rose hardly knew how to begin considering it. She knew that the two men were friends and had gone through much together, but how that translated into John making a point in saying that he was leaving Jack behind she had no idea. And safe? Why did she need to be protected? John had left her behind on his many trips out of the country before without a guard. There was a tiny voice in the back of her mind that whispered that perhaps John had always left some sort of guard and that he was only just mentioning it now. The thought rankled her as much as it brought a feeling of peace. She was not fragile, she did not need to be protected from anything, but on the other hand, the fact that John was leaving a friend to watch out for her (from some unknown danger) was oddly comforting. Words were John's faithful companions and his greatest armor, she did not completely trust them, but actions, they were not things she had seen from John in some time and they were a great deal more reliable.

Rose suddenly became aware that she was clenching her fists so tightly her nails were digging into her palm. She forced herself to relax, shaking her hands a little to relieve the sting. She did not want to think about the postscript that John had left, did not want to remember his actions that night. Moving on, holding her head up, smiling at people...all of that required that she bury her emotions, ignore her feelings, and pretend that night never happened. And yet, here he was bringing it up and not only bringing it up, but apologizing for it. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. She could deal with this. 

John apologizing. It was enough to bring her up short. John spoke, he demanded, argued, cajoled, demanded, gave monologues, babbled, but he did not apologize. Thinking back on their relationship, Rose thought she could count on one hand the amount of times that he had ever seriously apologized for an error he had made. Certainly none of those occasions had occurred during their married life and she had given up hope that it would ever happen again. She had never expected him to apologize for their wedding night. 

Forgiveness was an odd concept. In some ways, Rose thought she had forgiven him, but in others she knew she most emphatically had not. She did not hate him for his actions that night, though she had definitely given it her best effort. In some ways she hated herself for her inability to stand up to him, to protest, to even speak up for herself. That was not the kind of person she was and yet it was how she had behaved that night and every day since. She wanted to rationalize his actions, to explain them away, but she instinctively knew that he needed to be held accountable, he needed to give some sort of explanation no matter how inane it may turn out to be. Him specifically stating that it had been cruel and unkind helped to lift a burden she had been mostly unaware she was even carrying. It was not enough, but it was a start. 

Rose pushed herself up from the chair, pacing the length of the study. That night had given her nightmares for weeks; to be honest, she still woke up sweating from the memory. She had trouble remembering the exact progression of events, but certain bits and pieces stuck out to her: the rip of her dress, the taste of whiskey, the smell of his cologne, the feel of his scar. She froze in the middle of the room, mind racing as she mentally went back to that night, her fingers slipping underneath his cuff, running over the raised edges of a scar. She knew that scar, or at least, she had felt that scar again. Earlier this very night, in the Library, hand on the Doctor's wrist. Her blood ran cold as she grabbed up the candelabra, lifting it and hurrying over to the portrait of John that hung behind his desk.

It was John, outside in early summer, his shirt sleeves folded up just a bit. Raising the light up, she peered at the painting, eyes scanning his wrists and yes, there it was. The beginning of a blemish on his wrist, disappearing into his sleeve. From the painting, the scar looked black, more like a tattoo and less like a natural scar. 

She stared at the marks in horror, unable to believe her eyes. With shaking hands, she set the light on the desk. "John! Oh god, what have I done?"


	18. Chapter 18

Rose unsuccessfully tried to catch a few hours of sleep. She knew that she needed rest if she wanted to help John, but her mind was too chaotic to shut off. So much of John's behavior made sense now, his frequent trips back to Paris, his anger over her perceived betrayal of the de Jones' family (though she needed to have a long conversation with him about his actions that resulted from that anger), his unwillingness to talk to her about anything worthwhile. Looking back on everything that had happened between the two of them, she thought she was rather stupid for not having put together his involvement before now. He was not exactly the most subtle of men, she had just been so wrapped up in her own pain that she had not seen what was right in front of her nose.

She knew that she could have taken the first step, talked to John long ago, even all the way back when Henri had first approached her about the letter. Her reasons for not doing so felt a little flat, thinking over them now, though she knew that things always looked clearer from this direction. There had been mistakes made on both of their parts, she just hoped that she could get to Paris in time to talk to John further. She was not entirely certain what help she could be to him, only that she needed to go.

As soon as it was light, Rose dressed herself, not bothering with her maids, and sent Wilf to ready the carriage. She was not sure how she was going to persuade Jack of her plan, but she was going to give it her best attempt. When she arrived at the Harkness mansion, she was asked to wait for a considerable length of time. She gave a brief thought to the fact that it was entirely too early to be making social calls, particularly the morning after a ball, but this was too important. After all, hadn't John said that he was putting Jack in charge of Rose's security? 

When Jack did finally appear, he looked rumpled and sleepy but not surprised to see her. "Lady Noble, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked with a smile.

"We need to talk." Rose wasted no time on pleasantries.

Jack gave her a confused look, but led the way into his study, shutting the door behind them. He offered her a chair and sat behind his desk. "We won't be disturbed in here." 

"I know who John is," Rose said, never taking her eyes off of Jack. "Henri came to me yesterday demanding that I spy for him in exchange for my brother's life. I had no choice, Jack, please understand that. Last night Henri told me that you had a note in your sleeve and I read it and told Henri the contents." 

Jack made a noise like he was going to interrupt, but Rose hurried on, "After I reported to him, I knew I would not be able to live with myself so I went to the Library to warn the Doctor. I spoke with him there, but did not realize who he was. He was able to escape, but Henri discovered that I had been there. When I had more time to think on it, I realized that John is the Doctor."

Jack tilted his head, "What makes you so certain?"

"He has a scar or a tattoo on his left arm," Rose said. "I felt it last night and I know John to have the same markings."

Without responding, Jack leaned back and fixed Rose with an unblinking stare. For a long moment there was silence, and then Jack leaned forward again and folded his hands. "Why should I trust you? I know about your betrayal of the de Jones family."

"I did not betray them on purpose." Rose leaned forward as well, willing Jack to believe her. "Henri set me up because he was jealous of my relationship with John. He took a note that I had found from Ianto Jones detailing a correspondence about possible treason concerning the Marquis de Jones."

"Do you know Ianto?" Jack asked in quite a different voice.

"He has been a friend to my family for years," Rose said, surprised at the question.

Jack chuckled, "He's vouched for you on several occasions. He is a very loyal man."

"I was not aware that you knew him."

"For many years now. But anyway, it so happens that John spoke to me last night before he left," Jack said. "He told me that he had misjudged you and that you were trustworthy, after all. He figured you would eventually put it together. He loves you very much, you know that right?"

She pressed her lips together and looked away. She was not ready to discuss her relationship with John with anyone other than the man himself. 

After a moment Jack continued, "So you know about the tattoo."

"Not as such, but yes," Rose said carefully.

"You'll have to get John to tell you the story behind it, it is an interesting one and for once, I got the opportunity to play the hero. More to the point though, if you already have proof that John is the Doctor, what do you want from me?"

"I need to go to France and I need your help to do so," Rose replied.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What do you need to do in France?"

"I need to go because I must speak to John. I think that Henri will use Michel's involvement to try to trap the Doctor. And yes, I know that Michel is involved, as does Henri. He also knows that he can no longer count on my help and that will place John under a great deal more suspicion that he is already."

"Why can't you just send word to John?" Jack asked.

"Why are you refusing to help me?" Rose countered.

He laughed. "I'm not, I'm really not. I've been protecting John for years, old habits die hard. Also, he left me with specific instructions to keep you safe. Taking you to France is not going to go over well with him and so I need to know that the reasons are worth facing his wrath. Also, why do you need my help in the first place? You could just as easily go to France without me."

"I could yes, but I would not know where to begin looking for him. You know where he is likely to be. Besides," Rose suddenly smiled at him, "If I go to France on my own, you would just follow me. He told me that he instructed you to keep an eye on me."

"Touché," Jack said wryly. "I assume you would like to leave as soon as possible?"

"The sooner the better," Rose agreed.

"In that case, why don't I get my butler to show you where you can eat some breakfast - I assume you did not already eat - while I prepare to leave. I should be ready to leave in less than an hour."

Rose inclined her head gratefully, relieved to have Jack's cooperation.

 

~~~

 

They landed in France sometime during the night and a very exhausted Rose followed Jack to a nearby inn where she sank gratefully into her bed, falling asleep almost instantly. For once she was not plagued by nightmares, dreaming instead that John was holding her in his arms as she slept, and she awoke refreshed and feeling more at peace than she had in weeks. 

The trip by carriage to Paris was slow and conversation lagged between the two of them. Rose was lost in her own thoughts, silently urging the horses to move a little faster, eager to see John. Jack, for his part, seemed a trifle distracted though he was willing enough to engage in conversation when Rose remembered that he was there. They arrived in Paris after dark and Rose was surprised to find the city mostly unaltered. She was unsure what she expected, but she had changed so much she was vaguely astonished to see that it was precisely as she had left it.

After two days of traveling, Rose was relieved to discover that their lodgings that night would be at friends of Jack, a couple by the name of Elton and Ursula Pope, British folks living in Paris. They were sweet people, if a little odd, but they were offering a warm meal so Rose would not have cared if they had been completely out of their minds.

Rose had just retired to her room when a knock sounded on her door. She opened it to find Jack standing there with a concerned look on his face and a letter in his hand. He motioned her to follow him and they walked down the hall to a nearby sitting room.

"I just received a note from a courier," Jack said as he shut the door.

"What happened?" Rose asked warily.

"It appears that..." He cut off mid-sentence and pursed his lips. "Rose, you must promise me that..."

"That what, Jack?" Rose demanded, suddenly angry. "If something has happened to John you must tell me at once. I have never betrayed my husband knowingly and I will not start now. You told me yourself that John trusts me and I am confident that he would want me to know whatever has happened."

Jack looked a little taken aback by her outburst, but nodded slowly. "John was captured. They know he is the Doctor, but they are holding him until he gives up the location of the rescued Dauphin. And Rose, he was captured because he went back to save Michel."

"Where is he being held?" Rose made an effort to keep her voice steady. There would be time for shock later.

"Temple prison," Jack said. "Michel says Koschei himself caught up with them."

Rose allowed a small smile. "I'm sure that is the part of this that John hates the most." She paced away from the doorway, pausing by the large windows overlooking the street. "I must go to see him in the morning."

"What? Rose, they won't allow you to do that. I won't allow you to do that," Jack exclaimed.

"I am not asking permission from you. I am going to see my husband," Rose said calmly. "I will speak to Henri first thing tomorrow."

"And say what? What bargaining power could you possibly have?" 

Rose paused, thinking hard. "What if I pretended to have a letter that I did not possess. Say, a letter from the King of England that promised clemency?"

"Where would we get such a letter?" Jack asked incredulously. "That would take weeks, months even."

She turned and gave him a disbelieving look. "Have you never had to act in your life? Surely a man who has worked as closely as you have with the Doctor would be a skilled actor."

"Of course I have," Jack spluttered. "It's your safety that concerns me."

"Don't bother yourself with that. Will you write up a convincing letter? I shall take it to Henri tomorrow morning and persuade him."

"I...if you're sure, I don't like this plan. It's too dangerous." 

"So, you have said," Rose said softly, turning back towards the window. "If this is the last performance I ever give it will be worth it to see John." 

After a moment she heard the door shut behind Jack and she gave in to the temptation to sink into a chair and bury her face in her hands. Only for a few moments though, and then she forced herself to stand and pace the room, practicing what she must say and how she must say it in order to convince Henri. She knew that it was dangerous, but if John could risk his life dozens of times over to save her countrymen, surely she could risk hers on his behalf.

 

~~~

 

Early the next morning, Rose strode into Henri's office with a determined step. Henri looked up in surprise from his desk and then stood up, inclining his head towards her. 

"Lady Rose! This is a delightful pleasure," he smiled, but there was a cold edge to it.

"I truly doubt that," Rose said equally as coldly.

"I had heard, of course, that you were back in Paris," Henri continued, unperturbed. "Won't you take a seat?"

Rose ignored him and remained where she was. "I shall make this very brief. I am here on behalf of my husband. I have here a letter of clemency signed by King George III himself." She pulled out Jack's letter and waved it. Henri reached out a hand to take it and she pulled it out of his reach. "Now, unless you would prefer that I take this straight to Robespierre, I suggest you allow me to see my husband at once."

"Well, there is no cause for all of that," Henri said, "You only needed to ask." He picked up his hat and coat and, crossing to Rose, offered his arm.

She declined and gestured that he precede her out of the room. She knew that it was hardly proper, but she never wanted Henri's hands on her again.


	19. Chapter 19

Rose followed Henri and the jailer along the narrow stone corridors of Temple prison trying not to breathe in too deeply. The stench was nearly overpowering, but Rose refused to allow Henri to see that she was affected. He had attempted to start a conversation with her several times on the way over and she had ignored him completely. She was not yet sure what she was going to say to John, but she knew that he was her husband and she still loved him. She had no intention of letting Henri insert himself between them again.

At length they paused before a door and the jailer unlocked it, allowing Henri to stick his head inside and say, "You have a visitor."

Rose waited for Henri to move back before stepping through the entrance to the cell. John had been standing by the window, back to the door, but at her soft, "John," he turned rapidly, taking a half step towards her. Aware that Henri was still standing there observing, Rose gave him a sharp look. "Alone, as you promised me."

"Five minutes," Henri said shortly, slamming the door to the cell behind him.

For a moment Rose stayed frozen, unsure of what to do, and then John made a low sound and took another stumbling step towards her. With a strangled cry, Rose was across the room and John's arms were around her, clutching her close to him. She buried her face in his chest, hands fisted in the back of his coat and eyes closed against a sudden rush of tears. The familiar scent of him filled her nostrils, blotting out everything else and she allowed herself a moment to just revel in the smell and feel of him, his heartbeat sounding in her ear.

Gradually she became conscious that John was murmuring words in her ear, his voice rough and broken, "How can you ever forgive me for what I've done to you? I hurt you, I used you, I tried to break you. I'm sorry, Rose, I'm so very, very sorry."

Rose pulled back a little and he allowed that, the look on his face saying he expected it, that her being in his arms in the first place was a gift he knew he did not deserve. He looked older than he had the last time she had seen him across that crowded ball room. His eyes were tired and sad, his clothes disheveled, and even his fringe was drooping over his forehead. She lifted a hand and swept it through his hair, running her fingers through the strands in an attempt to get it to stand upright. With one finger, she smoothed the lines from his forehead, trailed down his sideburns and across his jawline. He remained frozen, hardly breathing, staring at her like he was afraid she would fade away at any moment. 

She opened her mouth to speak and watched him inhale sharply, steeling himself for whatever she had to say. "What you did, it hurt me, it hurt us. I was angry with you for a long time, confused and hurt that you would treat me like that. I did not know what I had done to deserve that. But listen to me, John Noble, I forgive you. I forgave you before I knew who you were or what you've done for France. I forgave you because you are my husband, because you are still the man I fell in love with, because I am still in love with you and always will be."

Rose watched as his eyes filled with tears and he drew her to him, lowering his head and capturing her lips with his own. He kissed her gently, sweetly, and it was chaste until it was not, until she tentatively licked his bottom lip and he opened for her with a groan, his arms dragging her impossibly closer to him. When he pulled back, they were both breathless, and he rested his forehead on hers as they attempted to catch their breath.

"Now," Rose said when she could breath again, "how do we go about getting you out of here?"

John chuckled dryly. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Nothing yet," Rose spoke without thinking and immediately regretted it when his face went abruptly pale and he took a step back.

"John," she said softly, "I should not have said that."

"No, you're right. I have done nothing to deserve you and everything to drive you away." He turned his face and attempted to pull his hands away from her. "I would not blame you if you left."

Rose caught his arms, refusing to allow him to shut her out before he had really given them a chance. "Stop it. Just stop." She ducked her head until she captured his gaze. "You made a mistake, I made a mistake. Now we move on. I still love you and I am not ready to give up on us. Are you with me here?"

He paused for so long that Rose became worried, but then he smiled slowly, pulling her back to him and burying his face in her hair. "Yes, Rose, I am with you every step of the way."

"Alright then. Now, how do we get you out of here?"

"There is a way, but you have to listen very carefully. We do not have much time." John stepped back so that he could see her face, but kept his arms loosely around her waist.

He spoke quickly and quietly and Rose made sure to commit everything he said to memory. He had barely finished speaking before the door slammed open and Henri stood there with a scowl.

"That's quite enough."

Rose ignored him and pressed her lips to John's once more. "I love you."

"Quite right too," John said with a tiny grin. 

"Now." Henri stormed over and caught Rose's elbow, pulling her backwards. 

John stepped towards Henri menacingly. "Get your hands off of her."

"Or what?" Henri scoffed.

"Do not test me, Koschei," John growled. "Now release my wife."

Henri sneered, but loosened his grip enough for Rose to pull free. "You shall never touch her again."

"I believe in this case, it is you who shall never touch her again," John said darkly. 

"We shall see about that," Henri said, as he shepherded Rose out of the cell, though he did keep his hands to himself. 

"Rose!" John called as she reached the door.

Rose spun around and watched as he came running towards her, "Rose Noble, I...."

Before he could finish the sentence, Henri slammed the door, the look on his face triumphant.


	20. Chapter 20

John paced his small cell relentlessly. He hated being caged up and, after having seen Rose, he was even more desperate to escape. Rose. His heart stuttered in his chest as he thought of his beautiful, loving, forgiving wife. The fact that she had come all the way here to see him, probably having convinced Jack to do whatever she wanted, and then persuaded Henri to allow her to see him -- he knew that he was never going to be able to deserve her love or her forgiveness. Everything he had put her through and she was still willing to extend forgiveness to him, to kiss him, and allow him to hold her; he was in awe of her.

The fact that Koschei had shut the door before he had gotten the chance to tell her he loved her and that he had blown his own chance by being facetious with that stupid "quite right too" comment was just another thing that was eating away at him. He hoped that Rose understood, and then chuckled to himself; Rose was far more understanding than he had ever given her credit for. She knew that he loved her, even if he was an incompetent fool who excelled at wasting opportunities. He could only hope that Rose was able to set things in place so that he would once more be able to hold her and show her how much he loved her.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the key scraping in the lock and he turned to watch Koschei stride into his cell followed by the Captain of his guard, closing the door behind them. For a long moment Koschei and John regarded one another, neither willing to be the first to break the silence.

"I hope you enjoyed that taste of Rose, it's the last bit you'll ever get," Henri finally said derisively.

John took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was deceptively cheerful. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean, my dear fellow. I've slipped away from tighter spots than this one."

"Maybe you have, but I'll make sure she is no longer interested in having your filthy hands on her," Koschei paused, "Personally."

John could feel his fingernails digging hard into his palms as he clenched his fists. He knew that Koschei was deliberately trying to provoke him and getting angry now would solve nothing. Besides, he needed to lull Koschei into a false sense of security for his plan to work. 

"Seems to me you already had your chance and she chose me," he replied as tranquilly as he could.

It was Koschei's turn to inhale sharply before letting out a harsh laugh. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Did you really come all the way here to discuss bedding my wife or did you have something else in mind?" John leaned against the wall, the very picture of comfort.

"It is such an interesting topic and could keep one entertained for hours," Koschei smirked. When John failed to react, he went on, "But I did want to talk about how you are going to return the Dauphin to me."

"Oh, I am, am I?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I know the location of your wife and I am quite interested in her. It seems that you are in no position to barter with me." Koschei crossed his arms and regarded John smugly.

"Actually," John pushed off the wall and walked towards Koschei, stopping when he was mere centimeters from him, "If I know my wife at all, and I dare say that I do, it is you who are in no position to barter with me. The Rose you knew is gone and my Rose will not take kindly to your advances and I think you know that."

"Your Rose?" Koschei laughed without humor. "Your Rose is angry with you. Everyone knows your marriage is a farce and she is even now hoping to be claimed by someone who can satisfy her."

John resisted the urge to punch the man, combating the insecurity that Koschei's words invoked with the memory of Rose's lips and the sound of her forgiveness. "Clearly that is not you. However, I am willing to work with you on an exchange."

"Oh? What has brought you around?" Henri asked sarcastically.

"On one condition," John continued, ignoring the gibe. "You will allow my wife and her brother and my men to return to safety in England."

"When I have the Dauphin, they will be free to go." Henri waved an arm carelessly. "Now, where is he?"

"That I cannot tell you, I must lead you to him personally. My men will only turn him over to me. A little matter of virtue and loyalty, I'm sure you understand," John smiled vaguely, returning to his spot by the window.

"Of course."

"Oh, and one other thing," John sniffed. "A change of clothes, perhaps."

"He is taking you for a fool," the Captain spoke up for the first time and John glanced at him in surprise. He had almost forgotten the man was there.

"Odds fish, my dear fellow," John said in an affected scandalized tone, "If I am to go to your beloved guillotine, I shall do so in style."

"He can scheme all he likes, it makes no difference to me." Henri nodded at the Captain who opened the door to reveal a guard standing there with Michel and Rose. 

John looked sadly at Koschei. "Hostages, Koschei, really? I'm surprised at you. Ahh well, I guess we all must do what we must do."

"You are not the only one to scheme," Henri said, motioning at the Captain who came forward to secure John's wrists. "You will ride with me and they shall follow in another carriage. Any trickery, any hint of treachery at all, and they shall die." He paused and winked at Rose, "Well, maybe not right away."

John bit down on his lip hard, careful to keep the emotion from his face. "There will be such treachery, rest assured of that."

Koschei smiled grimly as he led the way from the cell. "We shall see. Now, lead me to the boy."

 

~~~

 

The ride to the coast was made in almost complete silence. Koschei did not seem interested in taunting John further, his shoulders were set and he kept his gaze firmly on the passing landscape. John, for his part, was not at all eager to hear Koschei's bitter jibes. He knew, logically, that Rose had forgiven him and that she loved him. He also knew that he still needed to prove himself, that something he did or said might suddenly remind her of his actions, that this was not going to be an easy thing for them to recover from. But that was only the logical part of his brain and it was being out shouted by the part that whispered how he did not deserve this, that his actions were too vile for her to ever forgive, that on some level Koschei was correct and Rose was eager to leave him for someone who was a more honorable man, someone who deserved her. He wanted, no, he needed to survive this; he needed to prove to her that he could be worthy of her.

When the carriage halted at the foot of the path that led to the castle where he had indicated that Louis was being held, John was startled, so lost in thought had he been. He watched as Koschei stuck his head out the window to address the soldiers guarding the path.

"Take half of your men and go on ahead. Signal back if all is clear," Koschei barked.

Koschei sank back into his seat with a sigh and grinned at John, though it was devoid of any real humor. "The Dauphin and the Doctor. My seat on the Committee for National Security is assured, thanks to your primitive sense of justice and loyalty."

"Primitive? I shall take it any day over your new order," John said easily.

"Well, thankfully for all of us, your harebrained ideas will soon be meeting their end along with you," Koschei shrugged.

"There will be others who will pick up where I have left off. You can no more silence the march of justice than you can kill all the aristocrats in France. Even for an enterprising man such as yourself that would be impossible."

"I can try," Koschei replied. "And I shall succeed a great deal better than you have."

John shrugged and returned his gaze to the window. Another day perhaps he would have been more interested in engaging Koschei in a moral debate, but today he had more important things on his mind and if things did not go according to plan, well, he did not want his last conversation to be with an imbecile such as this one.

It was some time before a shout came from the guards, indicating that the all clear signal had come from the castle. Koschei looked relieved and he addressed the guards loudly so that John was sure to hear. 

"You and your men remain here, Corporal. Make sure that nobody leaves the island without me. And if I'm not back within two hours, send in a guard and fetch me." He settled back into his seat and sent John a triumphant smile which John ignored.


	21. Chapter 21

Rose shivered slightly against the wind blowing off the Channel, following closely behind Michel as the party made their way into the castle. John was up ahead, surrounded on all sides by Henri's soldiers, and Rose knew that she could not go to him, as much as she ached to do so. She desperately hoped that whatever John's plans entailed would work. She was not entirely sure of what they had been, only that John had her tell Jack to put operation TARDIS into effect. 

By the time she entered the castle, she could hear Henri shouting at someone. "Gone? What do you mean they are gone?" 

She came around the corner to see him drawn up to his full height yelling at a Captain she did not recognize.

"Well, sir, the Doctor's men and the Dauphin, they aren't here..."

"I heard you the first time!" Henri roared in anger.

"Of course, sir. The butler thinks he overheard what happened."

Henri rounded on the butler and Rose swallowed a gasp when she recognized Wilf. "What do you have to say, old man?"

There was a noise of protest from John, but Wilf answered smoothly, "To take the boy across the south of Spain and then on to England."

"England! I thought it would be something like that. Guards, take this man away and hold him securely."

Two of the soldiers escorted Wilf from the room and Rose bit her lip as she watched them grab him roughly. He was obviously faithful to John and knew more than Rose had ever suspected of him. Of course, she had never really been paying attention to things back then. Before she could consider it further, Henri turned towards John angrily.

"This is all your doing." 

John shrugged at him, an odd smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

"Take him to the courtyard and execute him," Henri demanded of the soldiers. "He has done enough damage and the longer he lives the worse it will get."

Rose gave a startled cry and hurried to John's side, catching his hand in both of hers and giving Henri a defiant look. John turned to her with a smile, a sad thing that was at once fond and miserable. 

"I have one more request, Koschei," he said.

"Yes?" Henri asked sardonically.

John never took his eyes off of Rose as he spoke, "Allow my wife to go free."

"Oh, she will be free alright. But only once you are dead. Take him away!" he shouted at the soldiers.

"No! John, let me go with you," Rose begged, her eyes filling with tears.

"My darling Rose, what I have to do is for the best. Please trust me, just this once." His eyes pleaded with her to believe him. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly and then shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her with a small smile. Turning towards Henri, he spoke in a much louder voice, "I shall be back, Koschei, never you fear. I shall return to haunt you." 

The soldiers grabbed both of his arms, marching him from the room, and Rose went to Michel, burying her face in his shoulder and blinking back tears. His strong arms supported her as she listened to the retreating footsteps. 

From the courtyard they could hear a distant shout of, "Ready!" There was a pause and then, "Aim!" There was a long silence and Rose pressed her face harder into Michel's shoulders, steeling herself for what was to happen. She could hear Henri pacing and muttering to himself as the silence lengthened. At long last the shout from the courtyard came, "Fire!" and then the sound of several guns firing at once. Rose shuddered, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. She would not cry in front of Henri, she would not. With a deep breath, she pushed herself away from Michel and faced Henri with a hard glint in her eye.

A soldier entered the room and Henri addressed him immediately. "Captain, take these two prisoners back to their coach."

"Yes, sir."

"They will be returned to Paris where they shall be executed for treason," Henri continued.

Michel stepped forward quickly, "I am not afraid to die, Koschei, but you gave your word that Rose would go free."

"You will find that a promise to a dead man does not mean anything," Henri said with a grin.

Before Michel could respond, a voice sounded from the doorway. "By Rassilon, I could not agree more." Rose spun towards the sound in delight, giving a shocked gasp when she saw John standing there, whole and well, with a delighted twinkle in his eye. "No, no, my dear Koschei, don't look so startled. I am not a ghost. Allow me to introduce your soldiers." 

John stepped back and gestured behind him. "Sir Jack Harkness." Jack stepped forward and gave a deep bow with a smirk. "Sir Rhys Williams." Rhys tipped his hat. "Sir Luke Smith." Luke gave them all a wide grin. "And the rest of the League of the Doctor." Three more men stepped forward whom Rose recognized as various members of English nobility that she had met on different occasions. "Also, my faithful butler, Wilf." Wilf smiled at John proudly. 

"But something tells me that you are wondering what happened to your guard? The ones you sent on ahead, you know?" John asked cheerfully. "Well, allow me to show you." 

He led the way down a narrow hall and opened a door to the pantry, showing several soldiers stripped of their uniforms and bound and gagged. "Frankly, Koschei, I am surprised you did not notice their ill-fitting uniforms." He paused and regarded Henri sadly, "But then again, fashion was never really your forte, was it?"

"But why continue the charade? Why allow the mock execution?" Henri demanded.

"My dear chap, I would not dream of depriving you of your moment of triumph. Everyone deserves such a thing in their lifetime, even men as depraved as yourself. However, I am on a schedule and a moment was really all I could spare." John grinned at him genially.

"My congratulations to you then, I suppose. As always you have everything planned down to the last detail. Except this time you have overlooked something rather important. There is no way off of this island except by the road and if you care to look out the window, you will see that my own men guard that road. My own men," Henri repeated.

John raised his eyepiece and looked out the window. "Well, so they are. But if you would care to look out the window opposite, you will see my yacht anchored there to take Lady Rose, Michel, and my men safely back to England."

Henri crossed to the window hastily, looking down at the water with a dismayed expression. "I tip my hat to you, Sir John. You've done it again." Henri tossed his glove on the table and before there was time to move, he snatched a sword from the soldier and slashed it at John who sidestepped quickly, leaving Henri to stumble forwards.

"John!" Jack yelled, tossing him his own sword which John caught and turned to meet Henri's blow, twisting his arm around and throwing him sideways and off balance. With a flick of his foot, he knocked Henri's sword out of his hand and across the floor. 

"A gentleman always removes his jacket before a duel." John said, shoving Henri away from him but holding on to his coat so it ripped mostly off. Jack and Rhys started to move forward and John called to them, "Stay back, this is one fight I am keen to have." With his foot, he tossed Henri's sword back to him, and Henri caught it with a wince.

The two men faced off, bowing slightly, and circling each other. Henri struck first, but John parried each blow easily with a small grin. It quickly became apparent that John was the better swordsman, but Henri more than made up for his lack of talent with an air of desperation. He struck almost wildly, forgetting entirely about finesse and each of his blows were aimed to wound. John kept one hand behind his back, using every forceful lunge of Henri’s to his advantage. Henri suddenly took a large step forwards, swinging for John’s legs. John, caught off guard for an instant, jumped lightly, executing a twirl that would have made any dancer proud. Henri was caught off balance and as John stepped to the side, he plunged forwards into a chair, which went spinning away into the wall and knocked over a beautiful lamp, which crashed into a thousand pieces on the floor. Henri recovered quickly and stepped towards John again. The lightning fast thrusting and parrying began again. 

Rose held her breath as she watched the two men slash at one another. Despite John's obvious talent, Henri's rage was making him a deadly opponent. There was also something about the way that John circled the other man, one hand behind his back, and slight smile curling his lips that sent shivers up and down her spine. Notwithstanding the fight he was engaged in, John used every opportunity to glance over at her and wink or grin and Rose thought she had never been more attracted to her husband as she was at this moment. 

John seemed almost to be the teacher and Henri the student, trying desperately to catch up. John’s sword flickered around Henri, making him wince every time it flashed near his face. As John drew back for an instant, Henri lifted his sword with both hands and drove it downwards with all his strength. John, realizing it was too powerful to parry, stepped back smoothly. Henri’s sword plunged into the floor, and bounced back. He tightened his grip, and came at John again. This time, his rage was too much for him, and, throwing caution to the winds, he ran at John, hoping to bodily knock him to the ground. John could have easily let Henri spit himself on his sword, but he side stepped again, and Henri whirled around to continue fighting. Parrying a thrust of John’s, he suddenly threw himself forwards until the two men were face to face, their sword hilts locked together. Furious, he pushed John backwards a few steps. John, turning so his back was against the wall, placed a foot against it and pushed forward. Henri stumbled backwards, tumbling to the floor on his knees. John held his sword to Henri's throat, a considering look in his eyes.

"Well, finish it off then. Or do you lack the courage?" Henri taunted breathlessly.

"I do always like to give a man a fair chance," John grinned down at his opponent.

"Oh the English and their infuriating sense of fair play." Henri groaned.

"Precisely, my dear Koschei. And in your case, I rather think that is to leave your fate in the hands of Robespierre and his committee. They can deal with you in ways that would make anything I could do look paltry in comparison, though believe me, after the things you have said to me I should like to deal out your justice myself. However, Robespierre will be harsh enough, I should think." John set his sword on the table and nodded to Jack. "Take him out of my sight and strip him. I shall need those garments to prove to the guards that I am Citizen Koschei."

Rose could remain silent no longer, rushing forward and throwing her arms around John, uncaring of the others in the room. "No, John, please don't do this. It's too dangerous."

John pressed his lips to her hair. "I must, Rose, I promised Michel I would personally bring Marthe to safety."

Rose drew back and turned a pleading look at her brother.

"Not this time, you aren't." Michel stepped forward. "I will pose as Koschei and go instead. No one need see my face - the curtains on the coach will help to conceal me. It will help to make up for what I've done."

"Mickey," Rose began and then stopped. With a small smile, she went to him and hugged him tightly. "You bring her to us safely, you hear me?"

"I promise, Rose," Michel said quietly.

"Your wardrobe." Rhys came towards them, holding out Koschei's clothes to John.

"Yes, I admit this is one role I had no desire to play," John said, plucking the garments from Rhys' hands and handing them to Michel. "The honor, my dear Mickey, is all yours."

Michel grinned, taking the clothes and, with a last smile at each of them, exited the room.

Rose turned back to John and found him looking at her with a myriad of emotions showing in his expression. She went to him at once, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his chest. He held her wordlessly, his hands pulling her as close to him as he could. How long they stood without speaking, Rose was unsure, but they were interrupted by footsteps. Pulling back slightly, Rose watched Jack approach them.

"He made it safely past the guard," Jack informed them, his eyes twinkling at the couple.

"Thank you, Jack. Prepare everyone to board, we sail within the hour," John said.

"And if you don't mind me saying..." Jack began with a wink.

"I'm quite sure that whatever it is, I will mind you saying it a great deal," John said darkly. "Why don't you go oversee the boarding of the boat and mind your own business." Without warning, John spun Rose out in a circle and pulled her back to him.

"Aye, aye!" Jack saluted sloppily. "I know where I'm not wanted."

"Unlikely," John muttered and Rose laughed merrily. 

When Jack's footsteps had retreated, John looked down at Rose anxiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm with you, of course I am," Rose said contentedly.

His expression darkened. "We both know that isn't quite true though."

"John." Rose reached up and framed his face with her hands, "We have to make the decision to move forward, together. We can't do that by dwelling on the past. You apologized, I forgave you. I would like to move forward to our future. Are you coming with me?" She pulled away from him and extended her hand.

He looked between her face and her hand before linking their fingers together and asking, "How long are you going to stay with me?"

Rose smiled at him. "Forever."

His grin threatened to split his face and he bounded ahead of her, tugging her through the hall, "Well then, allons-y, Rose Noble."


	22. Chapter 22

When Rose and John made it back to the Noble mansion it was late the following evening. They had dropped off Louis with a transplanted French couple who John promised would raise him properly, teaching him to respect his French heritage while also protecting him from anyone who would come looking for him. Watching John interact with Louis had stirred something inside of Rose that she had never really thought about before. He was so good with the boy, taking the time to explain things carefully, to listen to what he had to say, and to teach him new ideas. 

John had been nothing but loving towards her, holding her hand on every possible occasion and pulling her close to him whenever he could. Rose felt her heart race every time she felt his hands upon her. She was excited and yet still nervous, not completely sure that she trusted that he would not hurt her. He seemed to sense this and his touches were gentle and his hold on her light. The few times he tried to apologize again Rose cut him off. She had heard and accepted his apology - it was time for him to back up his words with actions.

As they entered the house together, Rose could feel her tension increasing. John was very quiet and she had no idea what he was thinking. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, biting his lip and looking into the distance. She paused, waiting for him to break the silence between them.

At last he spoke, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, "I'll just go and unpack. Maybe see you in the morning?" He met her gaze and then hurriedly looked away.

Rose stood still, staring at him uncertainly. This was a side of her husband she had not seen before and was entirely unprepared to handle. She could not understand his hesitation and then all of a sudden she did. With a smile, she extended her hand to him. "John, come to bed with me?"

His mouth dropped open as he looked at her, his eyes shining with nervousness and laced with an anticipation he couldn't quite mask. After a breathless moment he took her hand, allowing her to lead him up the stairs and into her room, closing the door behind them.

"Listen Rose, I..." he began and then cut off at her warning look. 

"If this is another apology, I don't want to hear it," she cautioned him, sinking down on a chair to remove her shoes and stockings.

"Not an apology," he hastened to reassure her, "Well, not much of one. I just, I want to do this right."

Rose chose not to reply, instead standing and slowly walking over to him, her eyes never leaving his. When she was directly in front of him, she let her fingers dance across his chest and play with the edges of his cravat before giving a short tug and undoing the knot. Still he did not move, though his elevated breathing let her know that he was not nearly as calm as he was attempting to appear. She smoothed her hands over his chest, slowly pushing his jacket down his arms and letting it fall to the floor carelessly

He stared down at her with a look of reverence on his face and she smiled soft and slow, lifting his hands and placing them on her hips. His touch was gentle, cautious, his thumbs stroking almost absentmindedly over her dress. She rose on tiptoes, tenderly pressing her lips to his. He matched her pace, letting the kiss remain chaste until she sucked lightly on his bottom lip and then he groaned, kissing her with a rising passion. It was still obvious that he was holding himself back, allowing her to set the pace for the evening. She appreciated that, loved him all the more for it, but at the moment she wanted to feel him, wanted to know that he desired this every bit as much as she did. She pulled back far enough to see his face and he allowed her to do so, loosening his grip on her waist slightly, but never quite letting go. He kept his gaze on her intently, his eyes dark and hungry. 

Slowly, she trailed her hands down his arms, caressing his biceps and squeezing his hands gently before spinning around and looking at him over her shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He seemed to get the idea, lifting his hands and undoing the buttons of her dress with shaking hands. When his finger just grazed the skin of her neck, she shivered, anticipating the evening ahead. When he finished he paused, obviously waiting to see just how far she was planning to take this. She looked over her shoulder at him, arching one delicate brow and willing him to make the next move. Carefully, oh so carefully, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, leaving her in just her petticoats and corset. A glance over her shoulder showed a look of deep concentration on his face as he worked the laces of her corset. When at last she stood only in her chemise, she turned back around, shifting her body flush against his. She could feel his arousal hard against her stomach and she hid a smile, clasping her hands behind his neck and pulling his lips back to hers. 

Rose wondered if she would ever get enough of the taste of him, a hint of cigar smoke and tea that was at once comforting and erotic. She couldn't resist plunging her fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands and enjoying the silky texture. When she had to pull back to breathe, his lips followed hers, pressing tiny kisses to her nose and cheeks and eyelids and she smiled, happy to know that she had that sort of power over him. Sliding her fingers down his chest and then to his waist, she untucked his shirt and unbuttoned his breeches. He seemed reluctant to let her be that far from him, pressing kisses to wherever he could reach as she divested him of his outer garments.

When he was standing before her in only his thin under pants, she grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the bed. She paused at the edge of it, pulling off her chemise before she sank down onto the mattress, scooting backwards until she was half reclined on the pillows and then holding out a hand to him. He came willingly, but she could see the nervousness in his eyes and knew that he was recalling the last time they were in this position. She saw his hand reach for hers and she laced their fingers together, letting him know wordlessly that she was okay, that she wanted this, that they were in this together. She wrapped her free arm his shoulder, hooking her elbow to pull him down to her, and kissing him long and hard, infusing the kiss with as much love and passion as she could.

She allowed her own hands to roam, encouraging his wandering touches with little moans and breathy sounds, telling him in an ancient language what she enjoyed. He gradually grew bolder, kissing and licking his way across her jawbone and down her throat. As his lips found her breast, taking the right one into his mouth, she arched into him, her grip on his shoulder tightening. She could feel him hard against her thigh and she slid her hand between them, slipping her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pushing them down far enough to wrap her hands around him, attempting a few hesitant strokes. 

He froze, releasing her breast and lifting himself up far enough to see her face. She grinned up at him, allowing the tip of her tongue to peek out of her mouth, and he groaned, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder. With one hand he reached between her thighs, slowly, and with a great deal more care than he had used on their wedding night, dipping his fingers into her sex, caressing her intimately before dipping his fingers in her, pumping in a way that had her writhing within seconds. With his other hand, he reached up to squeeze her nipples, rolling and pinching them, experimenting to find out what she liked. She was aware of the rising passion, her body moving in time to his ministrations, and her noises grew louder, encouraging him breathlessly to continue, to please, John, keep going.

The storm broke within her, lights flashing behind her eyes, and for a long moment she was aware of nothing at all. Gradually she came back to herself, aware that John was watching her closely, his love and devotion evident. She could not find the energy to speak, instead raising her head far enough to kiss him, pouring everything she was feeling into the movement of their lips. He met her halfway and she could feel the tension leaving his limbs. When she could breathe again, she pulled back, reaching between them to grasp him and position him at her entrance. 

For a moment he paused, his eyes searching hers and she knew he was asking if she was ready, if she really wanted this. For a brief moment she compared this coming together with the horror of their wedding night. The love and concern currently on his face, him allowing her to set the pace, his gentle movements as he made sure that she was receiving pleasure from his actions, all of it together was helping to erase the painful memories. She knew they were truly on the same page now with no secrets between them and the thought was so overwhelming that she was unable to reassure him verbally. Instead, she lifted her hips, welcoming him into her. He set a careful pace, gradually increasing the tempo with each thrust of his hips. At the feel of him inside of her, of the two of them moving together the way this was supposed to happen, she could feel tears filling her eyes. He paused his movement, concern etched across his features. She smiled through her tears and his answering grin was relieved. 

Rose could feel another wave of passion building and she closed her eyes, hardly daring to believe that they were here in this moment together. This was truly the two of them on the same path, racing towards a common goal. She had not been aware that it could be like this, that two bodies in the oldest dance in the world could seem so much like poetry. The feel of his skin against hers, a tender burn where his lips grazed her throat, and the sound of their voices twining together was a melody that she was unsure she would ever be tired of.

They hit the peak at nearly the same time, tipping over and crashing down over the edge together. When she was once more aware of her surroundings, she could barely hear him murmuring in her ear, low and intense, words of love and apology and passion. She welcomed the weight of him, his hair tickling her chin and his length still inside of her, knowing that this coming together had truly been about both of them. She knew deep inside of her that this was the way it would continue to be between them.

He eventually moved off of her, grabbing a handkerchief from the floor to clean them up and then lying back down and wordlessly holding out his arms to her. She snuggled into his side immediately, resting her head on his chest and idly running her fingers across his stomach. They lay together quietly for so long that she thought he had fallen asleep, but then he spoke, his voice tinged with rough sincerity. "I love you."

She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down on him with a soft smile. "I love you too, John Noble. For now and for always."

"For always," he agreed, tugging her back to him and pressing his lips to her hair. "Always and forever."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it & thanks for reading!


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